


Rebirthing

by hero_complex_girl



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Animals fucking LOVE Jaskier, M/M, Mentions of past abuse, Omega Jaskier | Dandelion, On Hiatus, Only until like mid-September, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, sorry but im working on a long-ish big bang right now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-25 02:47:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22488799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hero_complex_girl/pseuds/hero_complex_girl
Summary: It all started with a Help Wanted poster.Two days and one Kikimora later, it ended with an omega being shoved at his feet.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 91
Kudos: 986





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1) I have never played the games or read the books, so that means I know fuck all about anything in this universe. That being said, anything in regards to places, people and monsters will probably A) be completely made up or B) pulled from a random wikipedia page or straight out of my ass. What can I say? I live to disappoint. 
> 
> 2) Just a little background for this story: You’ve probably noticed that it’s tagged as alpha/beta/omega (in fact, I’m going to guess half of you clicked on it just because of that tag, ya filthy animals). In this story, omegas are an incredibly rare thing to come across. Like, less than .05% of people are born as omegas in this universe. That being said, they are not treated fairly at all. They are seen more as things for breeding/reproducing and are often forced to do hard labor that nobody else wants to do. Of course, our dear Geralt may see things a bit differently... *smiles innocently* 
> 
> 3) I have a terrible habit of finding a fandom when it's on its last season, so I get all of these brilliant fic ideas and then fall out of the fandom months later and never carry out my writing. I. Am. Sick. Of. It. SICK OF IT! That is why I was excited to stumble upon this tv show. The fact that more seasons are coming will keep me invested. ALSO. I've written fuck all since I started college, which was 5 years ago, and now that I've graduated it's really time to get back onto the band wagon because, god damn it, I miss writing. So here is my cautionary tale: My writing skills are rusty, this might suck large cock, read at your own risk of possibly cringing yourself into oblivion.

**_Rebirthing now_ **

**_I wanna live my life_ **

**_Wanna give you everything_ **

**_Breathe for the first time now_ **

**_I come alive somehow_ **

**_~ Rebirthing by Skillet_ **

It all started with the Help Wanted poster. 

Geralt had been staying in a tiny town nestled between mountains for the past 2 nights, free stay courtesy of the tavern owner. The townspeople were a rather poor bunch, but after killing 2 werewolves for them, they had insisted on some form of repayment. He turned down their coins, not wanting to deplete their resources any further, but graciously accepted the free 2-night stay in the room above the tavern. The free food and drinks the barmaid had offered had also been a plus. 

On the last morning, after eating half a loaf of bread for breakfast, Geralt nodded his thanks to the barmaid before making his way towards the door. He had almost shouldered his way outside before a young woman had grabbed his arm and shoved a small piece of paper underneath his nose. Grabbing it, he quickly skimmed over the words, learning that a town named Calcheth was having some troubles with a Kikimora. 

_ “It says they’ll pay handsomely!”  _ the woman had squealed.  _ “I bet they’ll give you  _ double  _ than what we would have! Triple, even! What a great opportunity, Mr. Witcher, sir!” _

Oh, how wrong she had been. 

The town itself had been a 2 days ride North, rain pouring down off and on the entire way. It would have taken much less time had Geralt not stopped so often, worried that Roach’s hooves might get stuck in the mud. Nevertheless, they made it to Calcheth, if not a bit dirty and wet. 

The town wasn’t much. There were a handful of half-dilapidated buildings running up and down the main road, making it seem as if the town had been deserted ages ago. And yet, a dozen or so people had swarmed him when he arrived. Vlecc, a short, fat man who was almost completely bald, told him about how the Kikimora had been crawling out of the nearby swamp every night, getting brave enough to creep closer and closer to the village. Close enough to kill a handful of sheep, a couple of dogs and a recently married couple. Vlecc promised him a generous reward if he took care of the problem, so ignoring a few of the disgusted looks thrown his way, he left Roach tied up at the tiny town stable and stalked off towards the swamp. 

It took a few hours for the Kikimora to show itself, pulling it’s large, awkward body out of the water to crawl towards the village. Geralt wasted no time, jumping on it immediately and slicing off one of its legs. Luck must have been on his side for once, for the Kikimora was still young and dumb, making it an easy fight. Heaving the bleeding body over his shoulder with a grunt, he dragged the monster back to the village people, dropping it onto the ground with a wet splat. A few people cheered while the remaining ones stood far back, staring at him with a mixture of gratefulness and fear on their faces. 

That’s when Vlecc dropped his “payment” to the ground at his feet, bringing Geralt to the present. 

“What the fuck is this?” Geralt rumbled, looking down at the boy -- no, young  _ man _ \-- at his feet. 

Vlecc gave an oily smile, bellowing “Well, your payment, of course! I told you it was generous! Most generous payment you’ll find around these parts, anyway.” 

Geralt’s eyes flickered down to the man on his hands and knees below him, sky-blue eyes nervously peeking up at him before skittishly looking away. 

Geralt turned his attention back to Vlecc, letting a deep anger take over his features. Stepping over the cowering man at his feet, he stomped towards Vlecc and grabbed him by the front of the shirt, lifting him effortlessly off the ground despite his extra weight. 

“I don’t take payment in the form of people,” Geralt growled, spittle flying onto the fat man’s face. 

Eyes wide, mouth gaping like a fish, he stammered “B-but this isn’t just any  _ ordinary  _ man! Ha, no, sir! This? Why this is an  _ omega! _ ”

Everything in Geralt froze. Despite his impeccable hearing, he wasn’t sure he’d heard him right. He had never encountered an omega before, let alone in such a run-down place like Calcheth. Surely the man had to have been lying.

That’s when the faintest scent caught in the breeze, a warm ball settling itself in Geralt’s core.

Omegas were incredibly rare to come across. Some people didn’t believe they even existed or had gone extinct completely if they had. While Alphas weren’t very common themselves, they still peppered the population enough to where Geralt came across a small handful in every town he visited. That left betas to take over 85% of society. 

In his 250 years or so of living, Geralt had never seen an omega in person. Until now. 

Had it not been for the aromatic scent of sweet, tangy peaches tickling his nose, he’d still think Vlecc was lying to him. Due to their lack of numbers, not much was known about omegas. Everything Geralt knew about them came from the loud mouths of tavern whores and the quiet whispers of noblemen. Quite frankly, those weren’t the best sources for factual information. Yet, Geralt still remembered hearing about how an omega’s scent could drive any man or woman crazy when they’re in heat, their smell torturing those with even the greatest of willpower. It was rumored that they were creatures of magic simply because their pheromones would take on a person's favorite scent, meaning an omega could be in the room with 100 people and every one of them could be smelling something completely different.

Geralt had always rolled his eyes at that idea, thinking about how over the top it sounded, like a fairytale you would tell your children at night. And yet, he was smelling peaches. His line of work meant very little time for comforts or pleasures, but the smell and taste of peaches was something that he fucking  _ loved.  _ Peach trees would never be able to grow in the dry soil of this town, meaning the fat man had to be telling the truth. 

“What the  _ fuck  _ would I do with another human?” Geralt snarled, giving Vlecc a hard shake as the other man clawed at Geralt's hands. 

“W-well! I i-imagine a big alpha like you gets lonely!” Vlecc replied, giving a nervous laugh. “Stick your cock in ‘em! Omegas are  _ real  _ good for that!”

“I don’t want your leftover fuck toy. I want  _ real  _ payment.” With that, Geralt let go of Vlecc, causing the man to tumble backwards onto his rear. 

“He’s a virgin, Witcher, I swear! I swear it on my mother's grave!” Vlecc pleaded. Geralt was surprised to hear his heart beat steady at the admission, but he unsheathed his sword anyway, pointing it at the frightened man. 

“He’s tellin’ the truth!” A woman from their small audience yelled, stepping forward with a small sack in her hands. Unlike the rest of the uneasy lot, she wore a look of anger. “That  _ useless _ thing is a virgin. There’s somethin’ wrong wit’ his insides. Never had a bloody heat since he appeared in this town!” She focused her sharp gaze on the man kneeling at Geralt’s feet. “All yer good fer is dirty work that nobody else wishes to do.”

“And beatings!” Vlecc chimed in, unsteadily getting to his feet and wringing his hands. “Good to take your anger out on! I bet you’ve got a lot of built-up anger, don’t you Witcher?”

“Shut up, ye old fool!” the woman hissed, narrowing her gaze back onto Geralt. She tossed him the small bag in her hands, the clinking of coins greeting his ears as he caught it. “That  _ thing  _ is just another mouth to feed. Take the bloody coins and the omega and get the fuck out of this town.”

“Well now!” Vlecc exclaimed. “I don’t think he needs  _ both _ \--”

Geralt pressed his sword to the man’s throat, digging it into the flesh as the man’s eyes widened in fear. “Ah, but you offered him so  _ generously _ . Who am I to turn down a gift?” He smiled viciously at the sweating man. 

“O-of course Mr. Witcher, sir! You can certainly have them both!” 

Geralt smirked and lowered his weapon. Vlecc immediately turned around and started running towards the tavern, all of their audience following until Geralt and the omega were the only ones remaining outside. 

The smirk dropped from his lips and turned into a sigh. He sheathed his sword and glanced down at the omega. He was still on his hands and knees, head bowed so that Geralt could not see his face. He was trembling slightly, whether it was from lack of proper clothing or nerves, he wasn’t sure. 

Geralt wasn’t entirely sure why he had agreed to take him. He didn’t have time to play babysitter while fighting monsters. As the woman had said, the omega would just be another mouth to feed, another burden to carry. And yet, the way she had growled the accusations made his metaphorical hackles raise. 

Though the fear about Witchers had gone down considerably over the past hundred years, Geralt still ran into those who reeked with fear when they crossed paths with him. It was a lack of knowledge that added fuel to people’s hatred and fear, and Geralt didn’t care enough to educate them. After traveling far and wide for years on end, he had concluded that the majority of people were stupid and ignorant, only believing what they wanted to. He had no time to stick around and change their minds, nor did he feel particularly inclined to do so. 

That’s what he saw as he glanced down at the omega; just another creature that was far misunderstood. 

Geralt sighed as he looked in the direction of the town stable. Usually he’d see if a room was available for rent in the tavern, but there was a strong urge in his gut to get the omega out of town as quickly as possible. His lip curled as he silently reprimanded his alpha instincts. He was always so in control of his body, aware of every little movement and sound around him. A Witcher  _ had _ to be in their line of work. What he wasn’t used to was his alpha instincts flaring up and taking charge on their own. The tiny loss of control made Geralt feel a tad uneasy. He needed to get a grip.

Geralt bent down and curled his fingers around the omegas arm, frowning at how thin it was. With a grunt, he pulled the omega to his feet, catching him as he stumbled. Blue eyes looked up at him from under thick lashes, fear swirling in their depths. 

“We’ll get Roach and leave,” Geralt rumbled, starting to walk towards the stable. Roach nickered as they made their way over, ears perked forward in curiosity. For a horse, Roach was a very intelligent being, always seeming to understand the situations around her. She was gentle with children and viciously bit at everyone else but Geralt. That’s what Geralt loved about her. Her mean streak. 

But this was not the time for that, and not surprisingly, she knew it. 

Letting go of the omegas arm, Geralt gave him a quick once over. He was short and thin, barely coming up to Geralt’s shoulders. The skin of his face was almost as pale as the moon itself, a set of pretty red lips sitting beneath a petite nose and pretty blue eyes. Geralt kept a stone face as he spotted the faint bruising on his right cheek, the bruising giving way to a split bottom lip. His alpha instincts reared their ugly heads once more, not pleased at all with the sight. He was sure there would be more beneath the omegas oversized shirt and breeches, but he wasn’t going to pester him about it. 

He sighed, realizing the omega’s clothes were not fit for the weather this time of year. They were too thin, littered with too many tears and holes. It was spring, meaning he wouldn’t necessarily freeze to death, but he’d still be cold enough to be uncomfortable. 

_ Why the fuck do you even care?  _ Geralt asked himself as he untied Roach from the post.  _ We’ll dump him in the next town and be done with it.  _

“Hmm.” Yes, that’s what he would do. He’d take him to the next town, buy him a room and be on his way once more. He’d be free of any obligations once again. 

He looked over at the omega, who was staring up at Roach with wide eyes. She whinnied softly, touching her warm nose to the omegas cheek. To Geralt’s amusement, he looked as if he was going to shit himself. 

“All right. Get on,” he rumbled. As much as he hated the thought of someone else touching his horse, he knew the omega would just slow them down if he walked beside them. He’d also be warmer sharing Geralt’s cloak and body heat. 

The omega gave a small shake of his head, stepping away from the horse's snout. Roach had the audacity to  _ sulk  _ about it, lowering her head and giving a massive sigh through her nose. 

“Have you never ridden a horse before?”

Another shake of the head. 

Geralt sighed, getting impatient. He didn’t have time to hold his hand and soothe his fears. 

“Roach likes you. Count yourself lucky, she bites everyone else.” With that, he grabbed the omega around the waist and lifted him off the ground. The omega flailed and clung to his shoulders as Geralt swung him up into the saddle, prying his hands away before he did the same. Once they were both seated on her back, he quickly took off his cloak and wrapped it around the other man, effectively ending the omegas weak attempts to climb back off. 

“We’ll make it to the next town much quicker if we both ride. No sense in you slowing us down just to avoid motion sickness,” Geralt said, coaxing Roach into a walk. The omega settled against his chest, shoulders slumping a bit. Geralt cursed himself for not making him sit behind him. His nose was mere inches away from the omegas scent gland, the smell of peaches filling his nose every once in a while, causing him to swallow excess saliva. The only good thing about his travel companion was the fact that he was silent as a mouse, the air void of mindless chatter and ridiculous stories. 

Yes, he could work with this.

**  
**  


~~

Geralt glared into the forest in front of them. 

The silence was  _ infuriating.  _

He could have beat himself bloody for ever thinking that complete silence for hours on end would be peaceful. Was this how Yennefer felt every time she dropped in? Like she’d go utterly mad if he didn’t speak up or even grunt in reply? 

It had been fine at first. Great, even. Nothing but the birds singing and the clip-clop of Roach’s hooves filling the air. But the omega had been deathly still in his arms, making Geralt a bit uncomfortable. He asked him the occasional question, which had been met by either a small shrug or nothing but silence. It made Geralt pity Yennefer for any time he himself had been a difficult conversationalist. He’d be sure to apologize next time she chose to magic herself into appearance. 

Biting back his frustration, he slowed Roach to a halt. He swung himself off and led her over to a tree where he could tie her up for the night.

“It’ll be dark soon,” he stated, catching the omegas curious eyes. He carefully helped him down and steadied him on his feet. “We’ll have to camp here for the night. You can start a fire while I go kill us a rabbit.” 

Geralt didn’t wait for his response, stalking off into the woods instead. He grabbed his dagger from its holder and spun it between his fingers, tuning in to his enhanced smell and hearing. He picked up the scent of pheasant and various other woodland creatures, deer being the faintest. Truthfully, he would have liked catching something a bit bigger than a rabbit. Yes, he was ravenous from only eating a small chunk of bread earlier, but he knew for a fact that the omega was literally starving to death. 

After they had left Calcheth, they had traveled an hour or so before coming to a small river. Still stinking of Kikimora guts, Geralt had made them stop so he could wash his body and armor. He also suggested that the other man wash as well while he had the opportunity. Silently he did so, Geralt’s eyes almost bulging from his head as he stared at his bare torso. 

Nothing but dark bruises mottled the creamy skin, some fading into a sickly, green hue as they tried to heal. A couple of thin scars also ran along his back, but the thing that grabbed Geralt's attention the most was how emaciated he looked. He was nothing but sharp bones, ribs visible through his skin. Geralt was positive he could count each and every knob in his spine if he wished. It was obvious that he was starving. Whether he was being forcefully starved, Geralt wasn’t sure. The other people in the village hadn’t looked too frail, but they certainly weren’t bursting at the seams, either. Except for the fat man, of course.

That was when something had clicked in his mind. He was no man of science, but he knew the body did strange things when it was malnourished; organs shut down, sickness came easily, etcetera. He supposed the same thing was happening to his travel partner. Perhaps his body was in the process of shutting down and didn’t have the energy to carry out a heat cycle. He supposed only time would tell.

_ But we’ll never know,  _ Geralt thought sharply, not letting any alpha nonsense distract him from his hunting any longer.  _ After tomorrow, he won’t be our problem.  _

To his luck, he managed to kill the large pheasant he had smelled earlier. His stomach rumbled, echoing through the silence as he marched back towards Roach and the omega. He was a bit surprised when he emerged from the thicket and spotted a decently sized fire blazing. The omega was sitting on a tree stump, Geralt’s cloak swallowing him whole. Roach was standing behind him, chewing a mouthful of grass as she snuffled at his back. Geralt’s lip curled upwards into a tiny smile at the sight. Of course, the one person that Roach tried befriending was afraid of horses. 

Geralt walked briskly towards the 2, sitting down onto his own log as he got to work plucking and skinning their meal. With years of practice under his belt, the meat was cooking in no time, sizzling and popping above the flames and releasing a mouthwatering aroma into the air. Didn’t quite hold a flame to the peaches he was also smelling, but Geralt chose to ignore that out of annoyance. 

The 2 of them sat in silence while it continued to cook, the omega barely taking his eyes off the food. 

“I take it they didn’t feed you,” Geralt rumbled, the question coming out more like a statement. Blue eyes flickered up to meet his golden ones. A small shrug was the only reply he got. “You don’t know if they fed you?”

This time a look of annoyance was thrown at him, taking him by surprise. He didn’t think the omega had it in him. 

“Cat got your tongue?” he bit out, getting irritated once more by the silence. 

The annoyance vanished from the omegas face as he shook his head no. A delicate hand emerged from beneath the cloak and he tapped on his neck with a finger.

“You can’t talk.” Fuck. Now Geralt felt like an ass. He leaned forward and ripped a large chunk of meat off the bird and held it out to the omega; a peace offering. Hesitantly, the omega grabbed it, ripping into it with his milk-white teeth. Geralt ripped off his own hunk, the  _ only  _ hunk he’d be eating tonight. The rest he was going to let the omega have. He clearly needed it more than Geralt did. The Witcher would have offered him some bread as well, but he had shoved his only loaf into the other man's arms the moment they had stepped out of the river earlier.

He licked the juices from his fingers when he was done, savoring the taste. He then sat there and watched the omega fill himself up. The way he tore through the meat was almost savage-like, but Geralt couldn’t fault him there. It was a bit satisfying watching him eat his fill, eyes drooping as sleep crept up on him. 

When he was finally done, the entire bird gone except for the bones, he laid down on the ground and pulled the cloak tightly around him. Geralt just stared at his back for a few moments, watching his shoulders rise and fall with each breath. He listened closely as the rhythm of his heart was lulled into the depths of sleep. Geralt huffed to himself as he stood up and gathered the pile of pheasant bones, throwing them further into the woods for the wild wolves to pick up. 

After feeding the last of the oats to Roach, he gave her a pat on the rump and laid down opposite the omega. He rolled onto his side so he was once again staring at the other man's back. A deep, primal part of him preened at the thought of giving the omega food, knowing his belly was full and satisfied. 

_ Feed the omega.  _

_ Care for the omega.  _

Geralt frowned and rolled over onto his other side. He needed to stop having those distracting thoughts. Because that’s exactly what they were.  _ Distracting. _ He couldn’t afford to be distracted. That was a sure way to end up dead. He had ignored his alpha instincts for years. He surely didn’t need them to make an appearance now. He just needed to make it through 1 more day and then he’d be rid of the other man. Nobody to look after, nobody to feed, nobody to irritate him with their unending silences. Yes, it would be a nice feeling to be alone once again, just him and Roach. 

Truly exhausted, he closed his eyes, trying to ignore the one word that wouldn't stop echoing through his mind.

_ Liar. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t even know what to say, guys. All of your kind words about the plot and my writing style were so lovely to hear. You guys are awesome and I think joining this fandom was the best idea I’ve ever had thus far in life. 
> 
> I happily present Chapter 2 in Jaskier’s point of view. Enjoy.

Jaskier once again found himself sitting on the damn horse. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t like horses, per se. In fact, they were very beautiful animals and were essential companions for many people. However, when the only ones you’re forced to interact with like to kick and bite at you, it makes a person form certain opinions about the large creatures. 

This horse-- _ Roach,  _ of all the strange names--seemed to be the opposite of horses he’d interacted with in the past. While other horses liked to nip at his fingers and clothing, Roach had nuzzled his cheek instead. He had been surprised at how soft her nose had been against his skin, the small whiskers on her chin tickling him. Despite the nice sensation, it had startled him all the same. He had seen the man's amusement from it and wanted nothing more than to glare at him. He didn’t dare, though. He didn’t know what the man was like. He could be just as bad, if not  _ worse _ , than the people of Calcheth. 

Of course, when the man had shoved the loaf of bread into his arms with a low growl of “ _ eat, _ ” Jaskier changed his mind just a bit. And then he had changed it even more when he was given the majority of the pheasant to eat. And  _ boy  _ had he eaten. He made sure to eat every last tender morsel, making sure to suck the marrow off the bones and lick the juices from his fingers. He didn’t know when he’d be allowed to eat next, so he made sure to eat everything in front of him, even if his stomach ached from the stretch afterward. 

To his surprise, the man had another meal waiting for him when he had woken that morning; a pair of cooked rabbits and an apple. Jaskier had  _ devoured  _ the apple, not caring one bit about the sticky juice running down his arm. It had been  _ years  _ since he had been allowed to eat an apple. Back before he…

Before his…

_ No _ , he refused to let his mind think about it. It was in the past. It was over. There was no use thinking about it now. It wouldn’t change anything. This was his life path now, even if it consisted of sitting on the back of a horse with a strange man he had been traded to. A man who was no doubt going to ditch him at the next town they came across. No, the man hadn’t said this to him, but Jaskier wasn’t a fool. His 2 years at Oxenfurt hadn’t all been about singing and dreaming and lute playing, thank you very much. They had also taught him lessons pertaining to everyday life, such as the things that could potentially save his life one day, or even the  _ people  _ that could. 

Even if it hadn’t been for loud-mouthed Vlecc shouting it for the world to hear, Jaskier would have still known the man was a Witcher. The looks were very distinct, after all: white hair, golden eyes, wearing a special pendant. What use would a Witcher have of another person? They worked alone and tended to avoid the company of others. Jaskier would just be an unnecessary burden. 

Unless, of course, the Witcher wanted to do as Vlecc had suggested and--

Jaskier dug his fingernails into the skin of his arm, trying to bring himself out of his dark thoughts. Instead, he focused on the sway of Roach beneath him, the firm chest pressed against his backside. It was a rather chilly day, but it seemed as if the Witcher ran hotter than the average person, his body heat seeping through his armor and settling deep down into Jaskiers bones, keeping him warm. He was used to thin clothing and inadequate shoes, the cold seeming to have a permanent home in his body.

He settled further into the warm chest, planning on enjoying the sensation while it lasted. 

“Don’t get too comfortable,” the Witcher rumbled. “I have to piss.” 

A few minutes later they stopped next to a small brook, the smooth trickle of water filling the air with the pleasant sounds of nature. The Witcher hopped off of Roach and tied her to a tree before stalking off into the woods to relieve himself. Roach turned her head to the left, giving Jaskier a side-eye. 

Feeling a bit nervous, he slid off the saddle with all the grace of a drunken fool. Feet planted firmly on the ground, Jaskier did a quick stretch, bones giving a few satisfying pops. His heart sped up a bit as the mare once again touched her nose to his bruised cheek, not biting or pushing, but merely putting a soft pressure on it. Jaskier was a bit confused by this behavior. He wasn’t sure what it meant. He wasn’t a horse expert, after all. But he was almost positive that this was not the behavior of a horse that wished to cause him harm. 

Hesitantly, he lifted a hand and placed it against the mare’s neck. Her coat was warm beneath his palm, almost as warm as her owner. He slowly scratched the spot, a smile threatening to break out as she knickered lightly and leaned her entire body into it.

_ You’re not so big and scary,  _ he thought. He brought his other hand up to gently stroke her nose. He stood there petting her for a few minutes, bewildered that he was petting a horse at all. He startled when he heard the Witcher clear his throat behind him, pulling his hands away quickly. He didn’t know if he was supposed to be petting her. He didn’t want to get beaten for it. 

“Next town’s only a bit further ahead,” the Witcher rumbled as he untied Roach from the tree, giving her an odd look when she flattened her ears at him and stamped her front hoof. They seemed to have some sort of silent communication for a few moments, horse and rider staring each other down before the Witcher sighed and put the reins over her head. He then helped Jaskier back into the saddle before joining him, the movement causing his scent to catch in the Jaskier’s nose. 

He’d had his suspicions the moment he was thrown at the other man’s feet. Everything about his presence had oozed pure alpha: his aggressive posture, the low, commanding voice. The only thing missing had been a scent, but Jaskier figured a Witcher couldn’t do his job if the monsters could smell him coming. He had likely undergone years of training to control his alpha instincts, locking them deep inside of himself and burying away the key. Jaskier only wished he knew how to do the same. If he could pass as a beta, an entire world of opportunity would be open for him. 

Then again, had he been a beta back then, he would have been slaughtered like the rest his--

_ No. _

Jaskier quickly pushed the thoughts from his mind, focusing on the faintest scent of alpha instead. It smelled like the wet earth after a rainstorm, like prickly pine needles sticky with sap, like everything crisp and clean and  _ fresh  _ rolled into one.

Jaskier closed his eyes, savoring it, toes curling in his boots. He had smelled plenty of alphas in his life, some with decent smells and others like they had rolled in a pile of horse dung. But this? Nothing had smelled like the Witcher did. He had the strangest urge to turn around and press his nose to the Witcher’s neck where he knew the scent would be strongest. But he could control himself. Every story he’d heard about omegas claimed that they couldn’t control themselves around alphas, that just the slightest whiff of an alpha’s scent turned them into mindless, wanton creatures. Jaskier would like to meet the person who came up with such an absurd idea, but he knew deep in his heart it was a tale spun by an alpha. 

“You know you can’t come with me, right?” the Witcher asked, interrupting Jaskier’s thoughts. 

Jaskier didn’t bother acknowledging him. It’s not like he had a voice to argue all the reasons he  _ shouldn’t  _ be left in another town. So he just kept staring straight ahead, his fingers idly playing with Roach’s mane. 

“I travel alone,” the Witcher continued. More silence. “I’d have to look out for both of us. It’s hard enough doing my job as it is.”

Crickets.

“It’s not safe for an omega out here.”

Jaskier elbowed him hard in the stomach, causing the Witcher to let out a harsh grunt. He smiled to himself, feeling a small sense of triumph. 

“Apologies for stepping on your  _ delicate _ feelings, but I’m only telling the truth,” the Witcher hissed. Jaskier’s smile quickly faded. “You think you’re so tough? I’d love to see you come face to face with a werewolf in the middle of the night, hungry for your flesh. Or a Gravier who won’t stop until he sucks the marrow from your bones. What would you do then, huh? Jab at him with your elbow?” He caught Jaskier’s shoulder in a hard grip and gave him a small shake.

Jaskier’s eye widened as the hand gripped harshly at one of his bruises. A pained sound came out of his throat, making the hand let go immediately. He didn’t miss the alpha’s scent slipping out again, more of a tangy musk that represented fear and worry. 

“I…” he started, voice faltering. He quickly cleared his throat and started again. “I’m not…” A heavy sigh. “It’s just not safe for you out here.” It was said in an oddly soft manner that seemed strange coming out of his large body. 

He didn’t speak after that, singing birds and Roach’s hooves against the trail the only sounds to be heard. Jaskier noticed that the Witcher was careful to keep his hand away from him, as if he didn’t quite trust himself to not grab him again. 

Though his body was still pressed up against the warmth of the other man, Jaskier had never felt colder. 

~~

Jaskier shoved the remains of the stew into his mouth, savoring the hot meal. The bowl was then taken from him, only to be replaced with a second bowl full of the steaming, hot goodness. Jaskier looked up at the Witcher, wondering if this was his way of apologizing for earlier. Or perhaps apologizing for what was yet to come…

Jaskier’s eyes flickered around the room of the tavern. There was a decent amount of people there, most drinking, laughing and minding their own business. But a few curious eyes fell on the pair of them, no doubt wondering what an odd combination they make. 

“You’re a Witcher, aren’t ya? I’ve got just the job fer ya.”

Jaskier looked over at the Witcher, seeing the unamused look on his face.

“I’m not here for business,” he grumbled, taking a large swig of his ale. 

“What? Not here for business?” the man spluttered, looking bewildered. “Ain’t never heard such a thing come from a Witcher’s mouth! Not here for business….” His grumbles trailed off before he reached into his pocket and pulled out a large sack full of coins. “How about a little persuasion? We’ve been having a hell of a Kikimora problem ‘round these parts. We’d sure appreciate the help.”

The Witcher groaned into his drink, swallowing a mouthful before setting it down. “What is it with you people and your Kikimora problems? Seems like that’s all I kill nowadays.” 

“Please!” the man begged, looking desperate. “We can double it if you would like.” 

The Witcher stared at him for a second with a stone face before he looked at Jaskier from the corner of his eye. Jaskier licked the stew from his bottom lip, stomach churning with nerves.

“Ok. I’ll kill your Kikimora.”

The man’s face broke into a relieved smile. “That’s wonderful to hear--”

“But I don’t want your payment.”

The man rose an eyebrow and let out a small chuckle. “Now I ain’t ever heard of a Witcher working for free.” 

“I never said it would be free,” he replied. The man opened his mouth to speak but the Witcher didn’t let him. He placed a gentle hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. “My friend here needs a safe place to stay. If you can promise me that he has a safe shelter here with someone, then I’ll kill your monster.”

The man scratched his head in puzzlement. “Well, that’s a bit of an odd request, but I’m sure I can find someone. The majority of folks in this town are friendly and keep to themselves.”

The loud scraping of a chair across the floor interrupted them, all voices in the tavern coming to an abrupt stop as they turned to look at the culprit. 

“Well,  _ most  _ people are friendly,” the man mumbled.

Jaskier and the alpha looked over towards the man who had caused the commotion, making the omega immediately feel 10 times smaller. 

Going by the impeccable armor and expensive sword at his hip, Jaskier guessed he was a knight. He certainly had the build of one; tall, broad, years of skilled sword fighting creating a mountain of muscle. His face had a strong bone structure, his jaw shadowed with stubble. His curly, brown hair reached his shoulders and looked soft to the touch. He  _ exuded  _ alpha energy. He’d be very handsome with a smile adorning his face. Unfortunately, smiling didn’t seem to be his thing. 

The knight stepped up to their table, narrowed eyes on Jaskier. “Well, well, well. What lovely little thing do we have here?” 

The Witcher just looked at him with hard eyes, standing so abruptly that his chair fell backward. Jaskier noticed the 2 of them were almost the same height, the Witcher being a little more so. They both stared at each other with hard eyes, a nasty smirk playing on the knight’s lips. 

“Now, now. No need for an alpha pissing contest,” the knight purred. 

“Especially not in my tavern!” the owner yelled from behind the bar. The knight looked at him sharply, causing the owner to go silent and turn pale. 

The knight gave a humorless laugh. “If it weren’t for me and my fellow knights, you’d make no fucking money in this dump. So shut your mouth you son of a whore, and turn the other cheek like a good lass.”

Jaskier tried to make himself as small as he could in his chair. 

“Heard your conversation,  _ Witcher _ ,” the knight resumed, locking his eyes with the Witcher once more. “Lucky for you, I’ve been in the market for an omega.”

Gasps could be heard from a few patrons, all eyes now turning to look at Jaskier. He could feel his cheeks burn as they turned red. He wasn't sure how they had remained oblivious to his designation for the past hour, but he knew it would be ruined for him eventually. 

The Witcher curled his lip in distaste, voice low and gravelly as he asked “And what would a knight want with an omega? Aren’t you too busy having petty bar fights and gambling away your money?”

A few patrons were brave enough to chuckle but were quickly silenced by a couple of other knights-- _ friends _ of his, most likely--standing and drawing their swords. 

“That’s no concern of yours, mutant. You want him off your hands and I’m more than willing to pay for him.”

“He’s not a thing to  _ sell _ ,” the Witcher growled, hand clenching into a fist by his side. “Least of all to the likes of  _ you _ .” 

The knight threw his head back and laughed, his fellow knights joining in. It sent shivers down Jaskier’s spine. 

“Do you hear that, gentlemen?” the knight asked in amusement, throwing his arms up for affect. “Do my ears deceive me, or does the Butcher of Blaviken actually have feelings?”

Gasps were once again heard from the crowd, some people getting up and hurrying out the door. Furrowing his brow, Jaskier looked up at the Witcher. The look of anger had left his face, only to be replaced with a stoic expression accompanied by a clenched jaw. 

The knight laughed once more, resting his hands on the table between them. “That’s right. I know who you are, Geralt of Rivia.” Geralt. His name was Geralt. It was nice to have something else to refer to him as besides Witcher or the alpha. “You’ve got quite the reputation, you know? Almost enough to make a person jealous. Then again, who would be jealous of a monster that slaughters a town full of innocent people?” 

Jaskier’s eyes went wide, searching Geralt’s face for any sign that the knight was lying. To his horror, Geralt sighed and sent him an apologetic look. Jaskier shrunk further back into his corner, averting his eyes to the table. He knew Witchers killed for a living. He didn’t know part of that job description was to murder innocent people. 

_ He’s been kind to you,  _ his inner voice reasoned.  _ There’s got to be an explanation for it. He’d have killed you by now if he was truly bad.  _

_ Yes, that apologetic look certainly had innocence written all over it _ , he argued. 

“Poor, sweet thing. Did he fail to mention that he’s just as bad as the monsters he hunts?” the knight asked, giving Jaskier pitying eyes. Jaskier wished he were brave enough to gouge them out with his spoon. The knight clucked his tongue and shook his head. “Fear not, darling. After today you’ll never have to see this  _ beast _ again.”

“He’s not going with you,” Geralt growled. He moved around the table until he stood toe to toe with the knight. The other knights came to stand behind their leader, scowls and looks of disgust on their faces. 

Jaskier got up on shaky legs and walked over to Geralt, softly tugging at his shirt sleeve. He expected to feel a thrill of fear shoot up his spine at the contact, very unsure about the Witcher with the new information in his mind. But he didn’t. All he felt was a feeling of comfort wash over him in waves as he caught that unique scent once more. He’d rather spend the rest of his life traveling on horseback with this man than spend 1 second alone with the knight. 

“Yes. Yes he is,” the knight replied, voice low and dangerous. “You came here for a purpose: to pawn him off on someone else. I’m offering to take him off of your hands so you can be on your merry way. Win-win for everyone.  _ Especially  _ me.” He rose his eyebrows suggestively as he looked Jaskier up and down. Jaskier moved closer to Geralt. 

“Hmm,” Geralt replied. “And what if I’ve changed my mind?”

“Then you won’t be leaving this tavern alive,” the knight cautioned, face serious. “I’ve got men crawling all over this town.” He then broke into a laugh. “No, don’t tell me you’ve  _ fallen  _ for this omega? Is that what this is about? You don’t want someone else to piss on your property?”

It was Geralt’s time to sneer, shaking his arm free of Jaskier’s grasp. “No. Witchers don’t have _feelings_. Especially for people we’ve known less than a day.”

Jaskier felt the last part was an unnecessary jab. 

“Problem solved then!” the knight smirked. “Traveling is not for the faint of heart.” He turned his hungry gaze back on Jaskier. “Don’t worry, my pet. You’ll spend your days doing  _ far  _ more important things than feeding pigs and shoveling horse shit.” 

Jaskier shivered at the implication. He’d rather die than be someone’s royal bed warmer. But as he looked hopefully up at Geralt’s face, his stomach turned to lead. The Witcher caught his eyes, face set with determination. 

“Witchers travel alone,” he said, parroting statements from earlier that day. “You have no place in my life.”

Jaskier’s lower lip quivered as his body filled with emotion. He shook his head, pulling on Geralt’s sleeve once again.

_ I don’t want to go with him!  _ Jaskier thought, desperately wishing he had a working voice. All he could do was hope his eyes conveyed the same message.  _ You  _ know  _ what I’ll be used for. Please, take me anywhere else besides here. _

Geralt growled low in his throat, a warning. Numbly, Jaskier took his hands away and twisted his fingers into the cloth of his pants instead. He thought the 2 of them had shared a few nicer moments during the past 24 hours. Considering the shit hand life had dealt him, he wasn’t sure why he felt so surprised by the easy dismissal. That knowledge didn’t make it sting any less. 

He cursed himself as he felt a tear slide down his cheek. He quickly wiped it away, sniffling. Once again, he was just a pawn in somebody's game. 

The scent of smug alpha radiated throughout the room, the air thick with it. 

Geralt grabbed Jaskier by the shoulder and pushed him towards the knight. Jaskier would have stumbled over his own feet had it not been for the knight catching him in a surprisingly gentle hold. Jaskier found his footing and turned around to stare at Geralt, shooting him the nastiest glare he could muster, another tear sliding down his cheek as he did so. He didn’t even care if he’d be punished for it. 

His fingers reached up to his neck, untying the blasted cloak that the witcher had given him.

“Keep it--” Geralt started, but Jaskier ignored him, throwing the heavy cloth at his feet. He ignored the cold that immediately seeped into his bones. 

After a few moments of silence, Geralt bent down to pick it up. When he was eye level with the knight once more, he sighed. “A deal is a deal. Show me where this Kikimora is.”

~~

Jaskier watched as Geralt of Rivia rode off through the trees, the remaining rays of sunlight catching on his snow-white hair. He didn’t look back once. Jaskier didn’t know why it hurt so much. 

“Come now,” the knight said softly, helping Jaskier up onto the saddle of a large, black horse. “If we’re lucky, we’ll make it back home before dark.”

Home.

Jaskier hadn’t had a home for years. And he never would again. 

The 2 rode in silence for a half-hour, Jaskier shivering in his thin clothing. If only he had kept that damned cloak he’d be fine. But he didn’t want to keep anything that would remind him of Geralt, or a person who thought of him as nothing more than a mere transaction. 

Despite the near darkness, Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat as the knight’s house came into view. It was quite large, made of beautiful stone and brick. The garden in front of the house--no, mini  _ castle _ \--was just starting to bloom with dozens of different colored flowers, their sweet fragrance tickling his nose. Next to the garden was a large pond, a small fish taking the moment to jump out of the water before plunging back into its depths. And all of it was surrounded by nothing but tall trees and lush grass. Jaskier hated to admit it but the place was very nice. If he had to spend the rest of his days warming the knight’s bed, at least he could do it with a view. 

“Right then! Here we are,” the knight chirped, making Jaskier flinch. He hopped down and held his hand out for Jaskier, a large smile on his face. 

Jaskier  _ stared _ , not sure what to do. Hesitantly he took the offered help, landing gracefully on his feet for once. As soon as he was down, a man appeared out of nowhere to take the horse to the stables. 

“Thank you, Dogrin!” the knight called after him. His hands immediately went to the armor on his body, Jaskier watching in silence as the man tore the heavy pieces off and dropped them to the ground as if they personally offended him. When he was left in just his chainmail, he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand as if he had worked up a sweat. 

“Bloody things could suffocate a person,” he mumbled. He then straightened once more and gave Jaskier another huge smile. Jaskier had been right. The knight  _ was  _ handsome when he smiled. “Oh, silly me. Where are my manners? Sir Azemar, at your service.” He held his hand out for Jaskier, who silently took it. He felt a blush stain his cheeks when the knight pressed a soft kiss to the back of it. 

Azemar then held out his arm for Jaskier, the omega throwing him a confused expression. 

“I promise you I don’t bite,” he soothed, face then breaking into a playful smirk. “Of course, unless you  _ want  _ me to.”

Jaskier blinked at him, not understanding what was happening. Nonetheless, he took the offered arm, Azemar leading him up towards the extravagant castle. 

“I do apologize for my horrendous performance at the tavern, but a knight has to keep his reputation, you know?”

No. Jaskier didn’t know. What performance?

The question must have been conveyed through his eyes since Azemar stopped them in front of the large, wooden door. His handsome face was illuminated by the torches lighting up the doorway. He frowned as he looked down at Jaskier, the pads of his fingers softly stroking over the bruise on his cheek. 

“Hm. That looks a bit nasty, but nothing a few days of rest won’t cure.” He nodded to himself as he searched Jaskier’s face, a small grin taking over his lips once more. “Ah yes, my performance! I must say, I’ve probably outdone myself this time. What performance, you ask? Well, you don’t  _ truly  _ think anyone can be as cruel and nasty as I was, do you? Mother always said I was good at theatrics.” He grimaced for a second but shook it off immediately. “Anyway, on a scale of 1 to amazing, how good was I?”

Jaskier could do nothing but blink at him. 

Azemar cocked his head to the side, a puzzled look on his face. “Cat got your tongue?” 

Jaskier lowered his eyes, feeling a sting at the words. Geralt had used the same words just the day before. He didn’t want to think about Geralt right now for fear that he’d start crying again. 

“Oh, my apologies, little flower. It wasn’t my intention to upset you,” Azemar said, voice quiet and comforting. Jaskier looked back at him and shrugged. The knight's eyes narrowed as they stared at his throat, a finger coming up to gently touch it. “Ah, I see,” he murmured, giving Jaskier a sad smile. “Magic has taken your voice.”

Jaskier met his eyes and slowly nodded his head yes, wondering how he could tell. 

“I’m afraid I don’t know the cure for that one, but I can communicate with you in other ways.”

Curious, Jaskier rose an eyebrow.

**Can you hear me?**

Jaskier jumped, eyes going wide. The man hadn’t so much as moved his lips, but Jaskier could hear him all the same. 

Azemar grinned.  **I’ll take that as a yes. Now you try!**

Jaskier swallowed thickly before thinking  **Am I going crazy?**

**Afraid not, but life would be more fun if we were all insane, wouldn’t it?**

Suddenly, as if it had never been there at all, Jaskier’s fear vanished. He may not have wanted to go with this man, but he also realized that this knight was not at all what he had pretended to be at the tavern. He was… polite and cracking jokes. No, the man standing before him was not whatever horrible thing Jaskier had come up with in his mind. 

Before he could stop himself, Jaskier grabbed the front of the guy’s chainmail. It was cold against his hands, but he suddenly felt drained. It had been  _ years  _ since he talked to anyone. Maybe he wasn’t using his mouth to communicate, but he was communicating all the same. 

**You can hear me,** he thought.  **You can hear me.**

Azemar’s laughter rang loud and joyful through the air as he turned them towards the door and opened it, a warm wind greeting them as Jaskier was led inside. The inside was just as extravagant as the outside, furnished with the newest decor, flowers filling a dozen or so vases. A large fire in the entry room warmed Jaskier, soothing his goosebumps. 

“Yes, I can hear you. But I don’t need to hear you to know you want an explanation.” Azemar led him over to a couch, helping him sit before he called a servant to bring them some food and wine. “As all good stories do, this one starts at the beginning. My father and mother owned this home years and years ago. I’m sure you can tell, but they were quite the wealthy people. They were respected by many; their friends, their neighbors, anyone they came across. However, I knew differently. 

“You see, I was their first born child, my sister coming into the world when I was 8. Despite what some men may think, I was excited to have a little sister. Truthfully growing up by yourself is a bit lonely, so you can imagine my excitement when she arrived.”

Jaskier could tell by the look in Azemar’s eyes that the love for his sister was immense. They both grabbed their drinks when the servant came by and offered it to them, setting a large plate of food between them to share. Azemar smiled at him and pushed it towards Jaskier, continuing his story.

“As we grew up, we got into all kinds of shenanigans, just the normal kid stuff, you know?  _ Gods  _ we had so much fun. But the day she turned 15, she presented as an omega.”

Jaskier choked a bit on his wine, Azemar reaching over to wipe the dribble from the chin. 

“Funny, I had that same reaction. I mean, omegas are rare. I wouldn’t have believed it myself had I not smelt it. But she was my little sister. She could have turned into a flying monkey and I still would have loved her. But… others weren’t so happy about it. Namely my parents.” Azemar sighed, suddenly looking like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. 

**What happened?** Jaskier prompted.

A twisted smile graced Azemar’s lips. “They sold her to the highest bidder. They used her for god knows what, and then they killed her.”

Jaskier reached his hand out and gently placed it on top of his, giving it a small squeeze.

Azemar smiled sadly at him, flipping his hand over so he could squeeze back. “Don’t feel sorry for me, little flower. I imagine you have a similar story.”

Jaskier nodded slowly but didn’t reply. 

“You don’t have to tell me. I may not be an omega, but I know damn well how they’re treated. After the news of my sister's death I… I vowed to always help any omega who crossed my path. And today was my chance, so I took it.” 

A small smile flickered on Jaskier’s lips. He felt bad for Azemar, but now he was grateful that their paths had crossed. He could clearly see that the alpha was still hurting over his sister's death, and it made him want to help him as best as he could. 

**So what about your parents? What happened to them?**

Azemar looked a bit uncomfortable, his free hand scratching at his stubble. “I… killed them. Slit their throats while we were eating dinner together. They truly disgusted me, acting as if they hadn’t sold their only daughter to a stranger. I won’t apologize for killing them. I’ll never feel sorry for serving justice. But I will apologize for possibly scaring you with that knowledge.”

Jaskier shook his head. He understood more than Azemar could ever know. 

He smiled gently at Jaskier again. “I also apologize for scaring you in the tavern earlier. I’ll have you know my men and I are nothing like the wild beasts you thought we were. As knights, we have a reputation to uphold. Yes, we may fight in battles, but part of our purpose is also population control. We can’t have the entire town up in arms and storming the King’s castle. We essentially put on a show to keep the peace. Otherwise, I fear I’d be out of a job. But you have to admit my acting skills are pretty grand.”

**Perhaps a little dramatic,** Jaskier replied.  **You called the tavern owner a son of a whore.**

“Well, I wasn’t lying. He really  _ is  _ the son of a whore!”

Jaskier huffed a laugh into his wine.  **Fair enough.** He swallowed his mouthful and connected eyes with the knight once more. He fiddled nervously with the cup in his hands before asking,  **The Witcher… Did he really slaughter a whole town?**

“Not the whole town, no,” Azemar frowned, followed by a guilty look. “I truly apologize if you wanted to stay with him. He just… Geralt has a reputation. Not a pretty one, either. The moment I saw you I knew what he was in town for, so I took the opportunity and inserted myself into the situation.”

Jaskier sighed.  **It’s fine. We weren’t friends. I was nothing more than a transaction to him. Nothing to cry over.**

“And yet you did,” Azemar murmured softly. “I know it probably hurts to hear this, but Witchers don’t have friends. They live alone and die alone, and they quite like it that way.”

Jaskier let himself smile sadly but vowed to not let himself feel bad about the Witcher any longer. He didn’t deserve to invade Jaskiers thoughts like this. 

**He did make a pretty terrible conversationalist,** Jaskier joked, causing Azemar to let out a belly laugh. Then Jaskier narrowed his eyes.  **How can you hear me? How are we doing this?**

Azemar stood up from the couch and held his hand out, Jaskier taking it and allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. 

“That is a story for another day, my friend. Can’t be giving away all of my secrets now, can I?” With a wink Jaskier was whisked into the sitting room, the area just as beautiful as the last. Azemar whistled sharply, causing a short girl with long, blonde hair to appear.

“Ah, Maleena! Would you kindly take my friend, uh, um--”

**Jaskier,** he thought, feeling an odd sense of happiness overwhelm him. He hadn’t been able to tell someone his name in a  _ long _ time. 

“--my friend  _ Jaskier’s  _ measurements? These rags he’s wearing won’t cut it.”

Maleena gave a sharp nod before getting to work, pulling and pushing Jaskier into various positions. 

“So, Jaskier,” Azemar piped up. “What color clothing do you prefer? Red? Green? Hm, blue might suit your skin tone best. Hell, let’s make one in every color of the rainbow!”

Jaskier smiled at Azemar, feeling like he had truly made a friend for the first time in years. 

If golden eyes and white hair popped into his thoughts, Jaskier paid them no attention. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't kill me for the odd turn this took. There's a purpose, I promise. 
> 
> If you're wanting a reference, I picture Azemar looking like Sir Gwaine from the TV show Merlin.
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr here: https://hero-complex-girl.tumblr.com/


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teeny time-jump ahead. 
> 
> Thank you all for the lovely comments and kudos. Enjoy! <3

**2 Months Later**

“Ouch!” Geralt hissed, pulling away from the needle Yennefer held between her fingers. She gave him an unamused look and grabbed his arm once more, holding it still with a frightening amount of strength. He bit his tongue as she shoved the thread through his arm again. “You could be a bit gentler,” he sulked, staring at the floorboards like a petulant child. 

She glared at him with violet eyes, her anger bubbling in the air between them. “I’ve half a mind to leave your arse here to bleed out on the floors. I mean, honestly, what were you thinking Geralt? Hunting creatures in the middle of the bloody night?”

“They sleep during the night. Thought it would be easier to kill them if the fight was one-sided.”

Yennefer neatly tied off the thread, bending at the waist so her face was mere inches from his own. “You’re. Getting.  _ Sloppy _ .”

Geralt felt an odd surge of anger, letting out a growl as he stood up from the bed. “That’s none of your concern.”

“None of my concern?” Yennefer yelled, eyes blazing with a fury Geralt had never seen before. “This is the  _ third fucking time  _ that you’ve summoned me in the middle of the damn night, Geralt! I’ve known you for years, Witcher, and you’ve never once been this terrible at your job. But for some bloody reason, you’ve been off for the past few months.” The anger fizzled out as quickly as it had come, leaving her to look at him with a frown of worry as her voice went soft. “What is it, Geralt? Whatever it is that you’re going through, I can help you.” 

Geralt clenched his jaw and looked out the window. The sky was clear, stars twinkling in the sky. 

_ Do you think the omega is looking at them too? Do you think his eyes glitter just as brightly? _

With a roar of outrage, he grabbed his black tunic up off the bed and hastily shoved his arms through the holes. He went to grab his swords sitting on the floor but suddenly found himself unable to move anything except for his neck. He glared at Yennefer.

“Geralt, I’m only trying to help you,” she tiredly sighed, making her way over to the bed and sitting where Geralt had been. “You know I can hold this spell all week, right?”

Geralt’s anger melted as he looked at her face, taking in the delicate curve of her lips and the creamy coloring of her skin. She was every man's fantasy come to life, a creature who was the star in the wet dreams of every boy on the cusp of manhood. But Geralt knew first-hand how deadly she was beneath the pretty cover. It hadn’t stopped him from fucking her, of course, the lust burning hot and bright between them.

But even that had fizzled out as quickly as it had started, replaced with a rather content friendship. Sometimes he wished he was in love with her. After all, what wasn’t to admire? She was a fighter, a protector, and deep down had a heart of gold, even if she’d kill anyone on the spot for even hinting at that particular idea. Yes, they’d be great together, but…

_ But your heart belongs to another. _

“Fine,” he replied gruffly. “But can you let me go? I look ridiculous.” 

She gave the smallest flick of her fingers, smirking when he stumbled forward. After righting himself, he sat beside her on the bed and thought of where to begin. 

“A few months ago, I was up in Calcheth doing some business,” he started.

“Miserable little town,” Yennefer mumbled, nose wrinkling in disgust. 

“Indeed,” he murmured, continuing his story. “Instead of offering me coin, they offered me something else.  _ Someone  _ else. An omega.”

Yennefer frowned, her eyes fiercely searching his face. 

“He was in, well,  _ awful _ condition. I don’t think I’d ever seen so many bruises on one body before, and given my profession, not much surprises me. Anyway, my…  _ alpha  _ seems to have taken a serious liking to him. God knows why.”

Suddenly Yennefer jerked off the bed and crouched in front of him, squinting. She held a hand up to his face, silent as a mouse. 

“The fuck are you doing, Yen?”

“Shhh!”

He sighed impatiently, leg bouncing on the floor as he waited for her to stop whatever it was she was doing. Eventually, she did, straightening herself once more.

“I knew there was something off with your energy,” she murmured, looking at him thoughtfully. “ _ Definitely  _ explains your carelessness as of late…”

“I’m not  _ careless _ \--”

“I guess it never occurred to me that you hid it. Makes sense, really. Can’t afford to be smelled by the beasts you’re trying to hunt.”

Geralt sighed. “So you can smell it then? Great…”

“No. The transformation a mage goes through takes away their ability to smell a person's designation, as well as taking our own from us. What good is a mage who gets distracted by the scent of another? Almost makes me wonder why they don’t take a Witchers.”

“It’s part of our focus training,” Geralt replies. “An ultimate test of sorts, to ignore our inner alpha. Terribly painful at first. Goes against every instinct in the body. But once it’s buried, it gets easier and easier until you don’t think about it any longer. Suppressing it just becomes second nature.”

“Until now,” Yennefer says, raising an eyebrow. “I may not be able to smell you Geralt, but I can feel your energy. It’s usually very concentrated, guarding you like armor. But now that I’m  _ really  _ feeling it, I sense the war that you’re having with yourself. This other energy, it’s restless, frantic almost. Like it’s trying to get out.”

“Yes, I fucking know,” Geralt grumbles, feeling his inner alpha surge at her words. He closes his eyes and grits his teeth, trying to fight it back down. He fails miserably. 

“Well, what was it about this omega that made you feel this way?”

“I don’t know. It was like… the moment I fucking  _ smelled  _ him, I was done for. A hundred years worth of control training crumbled in a matter of seconds. I gave him my cloak, gave him most of my food, wanted to make sure he was properly cared for.”

A smirk pulled at Yennefer’s lips. “So where is this  _ sweetling  _ of yours then?”

His lips pulled down into a grimace. “I didn’t want him traveling with me, so I sent him off with a knight. That stupid, smirking bastard of a knight…”

“Why on earth would you do something so stupid?!”

“Because!” he erupted, feeling the anger come back once again. “The road is no place for an omega! Was I supposed to play babysitter while I slashed the throats of monsters? He would be nothing more than a liability! That’s why I gave him to the knight! Because I figured… I figured that even if the knight wanted a  _ companion _ , the omega would still have a proper bed to sleep in and a hot meal in his belly every night. But…” The anger vanished, his alpha growing restless as he thought about the omega. Suddenly, Geralt felt nothing but bone-tired exhaustion. “The look on his face, Yen. When I shoved him towards the knight. It was, well. It made me want to slit my own throat right there. I’ve never seen such a look of betrayal. He  _ cried _ , Yennefer. I caused that. I’ve never hated myself more. And then--” a huff of laughter escaped his lips “--he threw the cloak at my feet, the little shit.”

“Rightly so,” Yennefer mumbled, examining her nails. Geralt rolled his eyes and elbowed her in the side. 

“I wanted to blame it on the fact that I’d never smelt an omega before. That his scent had just caught me off guard because he’s the first omega I’ve met.” 

“But that’s not it, is it? What aren’t you telling me, Geralt?”

“I’ve been having these  _ dreams _ . Only, I’m not really sure if they’re dreams or not.”

Yennefer rose an eyebrow. “Care to elaborate?”

Geralt was quiet for a moment as his gaze drifted back to the window. “You know how some call me the Butcher of Blaviken?”

“I’ve heard the tales of how you slaughtered an entire town, yes.”

“It wasn’t a whole town,” he grouched. “People really like to fucking exaggerate, don’t they? It was eight, people for gods sa--”

“Yes, yes, they’ve mucked up the story. Carry on,” she urged. 

“Anyway. The reason I slaughtered those people in the first place is because of a woman named Renfri. I was given an ultimatum which ended with her dying in my arms.” His jaw clenched at the memory. “As she died, she said something to me; ‘The young one thrown at your feet is your destiny and your future.’ I didn’t think much of it at the time, but the same words have played in my dreams every night since I parted ways with the omega. I can’t make them stop no matter what I try.” 

“That explains the dark bags beneath your eyes,” Yennefer pointed out, looking thoughtful. 

“Well, he was quite  _ literally  _ thrown at my feet in Calcheth. I’m positive Renfri’s insane rambling held some truth. The mage that wanted her dead claimed she had been a princess cursed under the Black Sun. I wonder if one of her mutations was to see into the future.”

Yennefer hummed in response. “If what this Renfri said is right, then you’ve chosen to run from your destiny, Geralt. There is no escaping your destiny. You’ll eventually meet him again under different circumstances.” She paused dramatically. “ _ Oooor  _ you could go find him as soon as possible so you can get a decent night of sleep.”

His alpha  _ loved  _ that idea, making his body itch with the urge to go find the omega. 

“I don’t know, Yen. We parted on terrible terms. He’d probably refuse to come with. Besides, that doesn’t fix the problem of him traveling with me. Just because some  _ destiny  _ wishes me to find him doesn’t mean being my travel companion will be any safer than before.”

Yennefer blinked at him like he was stupid, finally throwing her hands in the air. “You own a  _ house _ , you bloody fool!”

Geralt looked around the bedroom-- _ his  _ bedroom--and scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. He supposed Yennefer was right. He didn’t spend much time here, save for the winter, so it usually slipped his mind. 

“You’re quite right,” he responded. “I suppose it’s a decent dwelling for two.”

“All you need is the bedroom,” she replied, waggling her eyebrows. “What is the name of this lover of yours?”

“He’s not my lover,” Geralt said, frowning. “And I… I actually don’t know. He’s mute.”

Her peals of laughter filled the air, making Geralt wince. 

“Now  _ that  _ is humorous! I can imagine how glad that makes you, not having to take part in a conversation. Communicating solely on grunts and hums? Must be a dream come true.”

“Actually it set me on edge. Well, set my  _ alpha  _ on edge. For the first time in my life, I  _ craved  _ to hear someone's voice.”

Yennefer’s laughter eventually died out, a serious look on her face. “Geralt, you need to go find him. I didn’t want to believe in destiny either, but when I didn’t listen, she kicked my arse.”

_ Yes, we must go find him! Think of all the time you’ve wasted. Maybe he’s being tortured or starved. We need to go  _ **_now_ ** _! _

Geralt shut his eyes tightly, trying to fight his designation. 

_ Yes, fine! We’ll go to him tomorrow after I try to get a good night’s sleep. _

“Geralt?”

Geralt opened his eyes and sighed, mind made up. Despite how tired he was, he could feel the ecstatic energy coursing through his veins. 

“I’ll leave tomorrow. I’ll find him and bring him back. Only,” his eyes searched her face. “The knight, he had a lot of  _ friends. _ I’m not entirely sure what I’m going to be walking into. Fuck, I don’t even know where he lives.”

“I’m sure asking around the town will give you your answer. You’re a smart man, Geralt. Use your resources.” 

“Actually, I was going to ask if you wanted to accompany me. You  _ were _ just complaining about how bored you were earlier…”

She hummed, looking thoughtful. “I suppose I could grace you with my company. If anything, I could dazzle the knight while you swipe your lover back from under his nose.”

Geralt rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless. “Thanks, Yen. I really appreciate it.”

She nodded. “Tomorrow then.”

“Tomorrow.”

~~

After 3 weeks of exhausting travel and an endless earful of Yennefer teasing him, they finally arrived at the town where Geralt had left the omega. It looked exactly how he had left it, with people bustling around the streets, selling their food and other goods. On one hand, Geralt was surprised that nobody had recognized him. He hadn’t been away that long and he assumed a Witcher was not a common thing to be seen in these parts. He had half expected angry or fearful looks, stones thrown at him for giving away the omega as if he were no more than an animal at an auction. But then Geralt remembered how little the life of an omega meant to people. Why would they bat an eye at one being given to a pompous knight? 

“Are we going to stand around all day or did you plan on actually  _ doing  _ something?”

Geralt looked at Yennefer, trance broken. He gave her a brief nod as he slid off of Roach. He slowly led them towards the tavern where it had all gone to shit.

“I’ll ask the owner if he knows where the knight resides. It’s probably our best bet.”

Yennefer hummed, satisfied with his answer.

As Geralt tied Roach up to the post, his eyes landed on a merchant selling various articles of clothing. He spotted a few cloaks amongst his wares, giving Geralt an idea. 

“I’ll meet you in there. I need to take care of something first.” He didn’t wait for Yennefer to reply, instead walking toward the merchant. 

“Hello, good sir! Care for some new clothing! Got a nice corset here that the missus--”

“How much for that cloak?” Geralt interrupted, pointing to one that was made of fine, black fur.

“Ah, now  _ that  _ is a rare one indeed! Made with the fur of a black panther!” The merchant smiled like a shark, eyeing Geralt up and down. “Yes sir, a friend of a friend came upon the beast! His entire leg was ripped off before he gave it a good blow to the neck. Poor fella didn’t survive but I got--”

“ _ How much _ ,” Geralt growled. 

The merchant’s smile faltered for a moment, but then lit up once more. “Well, something as fine as this can easily go for 50 crowns--

“Twenty-five.”

“Twenty-five?” the merchant spluttered, giving a small laugh. “Good sir, this is the finest fur you’ll ever get your hands on! I’d be  _ mad  _ to sell--”

“Take a good look around you,” Geralt sneered, gesturing to the people bustling around him. “Does it look like anyone around here has fifty crowns on them? You’re a fool to think you’ll ever sell it for that much. So, twenty-five. Take it or leave it.”

The merchant huffed and rolled his eyes, grabbing the cloak down from where it hung. “Fine, fine. You drive a hard bargain but I’m willing to do it for twenty-five.” 

Geralt handed over the coins, grabbing the fur in exchange. He grunted his thanks to the merchant and walked back towards the tavern. The cloak was very soft in his hands, the black fur shining in the sun. Hopefully it would be a good apology gift for the omega. 

He truly had wanted the omega to keep the one he had given him, worrying even then about him becoming too cold. But selfishly he was glad the omega had thrown it back at his feet, for the moment he had tied it back around his neck, he was surrounded by the scent of fresh peaches. The smell had seeped into the cloth enough to last him nearly a month, allowing him to bury his face into the fabric while he slept at night. Unfortunately, a run-in with a monster left it stinking of monster intestines, forcing him to wash both scents out. 

As he neared the tavern, Yennefer exited the building, nodding at him.

“I asked the owner where the knight was located and he was kind enough to tell me, so let’s be on our way.”

“Are you sure it’s the right knight? There were a couple of them.”

“Yes, Geralt. I mentioned the whole situation with the omega and he knew  _ exactly  _ what I was referring to,” she said in exasperation. “He also said he doesn’t want any trouble.”

Geralt untied Roach and hopped back up, waiting for Yennefer to get on behind him. “There won’t be any trouble if people keep their noses out of my business.”

~~

The wound their way through trails and trees for the next hour, making Geralt wonder if somehow Yennefer had gotten them lost. He was about to voice his suspicion but the words died in his throat when he felt Yennefer stiffen behind him. He would have turned around and asked about it, but the faintest vibration of his medallion made him stop. 

“This place  _ reeks  _ of magic,” Yennefer whispered. “I’ve never felt it so strongly concentrated in one area before. What on earth…”

Geralt’s medallion vibrated furiously between his fingers, making him frown and look around him. Oddly enough, Roach didn’t seem bothered. Usually if there was danger around, Roach was the first to tell him about it.

He quickly brought the mare to a halt. “What is it, Yen?” 

“I’m… not sure, honestly. It doesn’t  _ feel _ malevolent.”

“Hm.” Geralt didn’t know what to make of that. He had expected to run into a bunch of whiney, sniveling knights, but running into magical beings hadn’t actually crossed his mind.

He looked around them, trying to hear or see anything out of the ordinary. He heard birds chirping, felt a light breeze on his face, smelt the vestiges of a wolf that had recently crossed the trail, but nothing out of the ordinary. The dirt below them held the boot-prints of half a dozen men and horses, meaning the knight recently had visitors. 

Geralt sighed, feeling a tad uneasy at the predicament. “We have no choice but to go forward.” 

Looking up, Geralt startled, thinking perhaps he was going a bit mad. Despite having impeccable sight and scenting capabilities, he hadn’t gotten the slightest indication that a man had been approaching them, almost as if he had appeared out of thin air. 

The man took a few slow steps towards them, pushing the hood from his face in the process.

Geralt felt rage spread through his veins like a blazing fire. It was  _ him _ . It was the  _ knight _ . 

The knight gave them both a wolfish grin, cocking his head as he asked, “And where exactly do you think you’re going?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a hard time finding female characters that I enjoy in TV shows, but I can’t even express how much I love Yennefer. And Ciri? Well, I would die for Ciri *makes sword stabbing motions*
> 
> You can find me here on Tumblr: https://hero-complex-girl.tumblr.com/


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just really love the idea that animals completely adore Jaskier, ok?! *ugly sobbing*
> 
> Also, semi-graphic descriptions of violence down below.

Jaskier smiled as the horse gently nudged at his pockets, huffing when he didn’t find any apples. 

_ Now you’re just getting greedy _ , Jaskier thought.  _ You had three of them earlier. _

The white stallion nickered softly, touching his nose to Jaskier’s cheek as if in apology. Jaskier just smiled once more and stroked his neck. If someone would have told him a month ago that his fear of horses would be gone, he would have called them insane. 

A dapple grey gelding came trotting towards them, curious about the interaction. A ripple of panic shot through Jaskier, but the stallion pinned his ears back and stamped a hoof, warning the other horse to stay back. Thankfully it worked, the gelding trotting back off the way it had come. 

Ok, maybe he was still a  _ little  _ afraid of horses, but he had a special place in his heart for the stallion. The first time Azemar had taken him to the stables, Jaskier had been a nervous wreck. Having sensed his nervousness, Azemar didn’t take him into the pen, thank the gods, but instead told Jaskier stories about how each horse had been acquired as they stood by the fence. He had told Jaskier that the stallion, Sonny, had previously been a warhorse that had taken a terrible gash to his side. Ever since then he had been rather temperamental, which, honestly, Jaskier could understand. It was no fun getting hit and cut with objects. 

According to the knight, Sonny would no longer let anyone ride him, and if they dared  _ try _ , they’d get a swift kick to the groin and a bite on the rear for good measure. 

_ “Absolutely despises people!”  _ Azemar had exclaimed.  _ “Won’t let anyone touch him, the poor bastard. Most people would just kill him since he’s virtually useless now, but we all figured he served his time and can enjoy the rest of his life grazing in the field.”  _

And that, of course, was the moment Sonny had pricked his ears up and trotted right up to Jaskier, sticking his neck over the fence and nuzzling into his chest. Despite his fear of horses, he couldn’t help the smile that lit up his face. Azemar had looked completely dumbfounded.

_ “Now, that’s… just… I’ve  _ never _ …”  _ Azemar had had to clear his throat a few times before he could form any type of coherent sentence.  _ “Well then. I think that’s settled. I officially declare this horse as yours!” _

Jaskier smiled at the memory, pressing a soft kiss to the horse’s cheek before climbing over the fence and heading back toward the castle. He startled slightly as a black wolf hopped out from behind some bushes, but calmed his racing heart once the animal fell into step beside him. 

_ How odd this would look to a sane person _ , he thought, scratching the wolf behind her ears. She gave a loud huff as if to say,  _ yeah, tell me about it. _

The wolf's name was Luna, and she, just like Sonny, had taken a strong liking to Jaskier. 

He met her a few days after he had first arrived, still blissfully unaware of all of the secrets the castle held. It had been morning, the sun just starting to peek through Jaskier’s window. Normally he’d have been up before the sun, his mind and body more than used to waking up for a grueling days work. But here, he had no work to do. He didn’t have to empty waste from latrines, didn’t have to break his back shoveling horse shit, didn't have to spend hour after hour pulling up vegetables from a garden. No, Azemar had assured him he never had to lift a finger again. Jaskier had felt uncomfortable with the idea, but the knight had assured him that his company was payment enough. 

So Jaskier was free to sleep in most days, even though he rarely did. That morning, though, had been one of the few days he slept in, his body desperately needing the rest for recovery. He had cracked open a tired eye and looked around his room, noticing how the space lit up with an early morning glow. Lazily his eyes skipped to the door, his brow furrowing as he spotted a stuffed wolf in the middle of the room. He hadn’t remembered that being there the night before, but absently wondered if it had been a gift from Azemar. That idea flew out the window when the stuffed animal opened its mouth and let a long, pink tongue flop out. 

If Jaskier’s voice worked, he would have let out the world’s most ear-splitting scream. Instead, he sat up ram-rod straight and put as much space between them as he could, back pressed firmly against the headboard. 

As if she had sensed his distress, the wolf let out a long whine and got down on its belly before promptly rolling over onto its back. He’s not sure what he would have done next had Azemar not barged into the room, holding his sword up and looking rather disheveled. After taking in the scene, looking back and forth between the ridiculous looking wolf and a frightened Jaskier, he had stammered an apology about how he had smelt Jaskier’s fear and thought something terrible had happened. He then turned to the wolf and reprimanded her, causing her to stand up and look at him with a bored expression as if this was a common occurrence. 

To Jaskiers relief, she had trotted out of the room, more than likely tired of being reprimanded by the knight. Glad to have the wolf out of the room, Jaskier couldn’t stop all of the questions he threw at the knight.

_ What? Why? How? _

Azemar had just drawn in a deep breath and sheathed his sword before sitting down on the bed and explaining everything, leaving Jaskier stunned. 

_ Werewolves _ . 

They were fucking  _ werewolves. _ All of the knights bustling around the castle sprouted fur and fangs during the full moon. 

_ “Well actually, we can turn whenever we want!”  _ Azemar had exclaimed, an excited gleam in his eyes.  _ “Only turning during the full moon is a myth, little flower. This is also how I can communicate with you. Werewolves communicate with their pack telepathically… Oh, don’t look so surprised. I’ve considered you to be a part of the pack since you first arrived!” _

And  _ that _ , well… Jaskier shouldn’t have been so caught off guard by the admission. After all, Azemar was just one of those people who could befriend anyone with his charming smile alone. So of  _ course  _ he would include Jaskier in something so bizarre and private.

As he sat there blinking at the knight, he wanted to laugh hysterically. How ironic was it that the Witcher, someone who kills monsters for a living, had handed him off to one without so much as batting an eye?

But that wasn’t true, was it? Saying Azemar was a monster was just as laughable as saying Jaskier was an alpha. He may not have been around kind people in a long time, but Jaskier could still tell that the knight was as genuine as they came. And the other knights? They were just as caring and thoughtful, including Jaskier in their silly games and pulling him into their conversations as if he were one of them. 

He was brought out of his thoughts by Luna lightly nipping at his fingers. He smiled at her, giving her muzzle a light shove. Luna wasn’t a small wolf by any means. She was easily 200 pounds of muscle and bone beneath the fur coat, her head stopping just short of Jaskier’s shoulder. She could effortlessly break Jaskier’s entire hand with one crunch of her muzzle but she was a smart wolf. She knew how to be gentle with him. 

She was by far Jaskier’s favorite wolf around the castle grounds, and there were  _ many  _ wolves that came and went. Not of the werewolf variety, but the plain, _ normal  _ wolf kind. Jaskier had come to realize the entirety of the castle grounds was a wolf haven of sorts, allowing them to pass through as they pleased, or, like Luna, make the grounds their home if they so wished. While the knights couldn’t communicate telepathically with the wolves like they could with each other, their scent must have been similar to that of an actual wolf pack, letting the wolves know it was a safe space. Jaskier couldn’t help but smile as he realized the entire place was more or less a home for the misfits of the world. 

He nodded as he passed by Sir Remi and Sir Drugo, both greeting him with a grin and a light touch to the arm. 

**Do you know where Azemar is?** Jaskier asked them.

**Afraid not** , Remi replied, looking thoughtful.  **Try the kitchens? You know how he is about food.**

**Or you could try the physician’s room,** Drugo chimed in. **He said something about a headache earlier. He may be getting a tonic to help.**

Jaskier hummed in thought.  **I thought werewolves didn’t get sick.**

Remi laughed out loud. “Don’t believe everything you hear, Jaskier.”

Jaskier smiled in thanks and continued on his way to the castle entrance, puzzled about these sudden ailments. For the past week, Azemar had been looking a bit worse for wear at breakfast. When Jaskier had asked about it, Azemar had waved him off, stroking his hair and telling him not to worry. Of course, that just made Jaskier worry even more. 

He sighed as he walked through the entrance, the heat from the fire melting into his bones and chasing away the crisp chill of the outdoors. He wound his way through the corridors, Luna dutifully at his side, until he reached the physician’s quarters. The door was half-open, voices audible from within. Jaskier hesitantly rapped his knuckles against the door, not wanting to disturb anything. He jumped a little as the door swung open, revealing a tired-looking Azemar. 

“Ah, Jaskier.” Even Azemar’s usual enthusiastic greeting sounded hollow, making Jaskier frown. The knight looked over his shoulder at the physician and briefly thanked him before putting his hand on Jaskier’s lower back, guiding him away from the door. “I was just coming to join you outside. How’s Sonny today?”

Jaskier huffed and stopped walking, forcing Azemar to stop as well. The knight furrowed his brow in confusion, letting Jaskier run a gentle finger over the dark bags beneath his eyes.

**What’s wrong? Are you not sleeping well?** Jaskier questioned, searching his face with a worried gaze. 

Azemar sighed and sent him a tired smile.  **I’ve just been having some odd dreams. I think… I think perhaps I’ve made a grave mistake.**

**What mistake?**

Azemar just shrugged and smiled, guiding them once more down the hallway.  **I’ll tell you later, little flower. But first I want to hear more of your songs!**

Jaskier blushed, trying to hide his smile as he looked at the floor. The moment Azemar found out Jaskier used to play the lute, a new one had magically appeared in his room the same evening. He had been thrilled to play the instrument once again, his fingers coaxing it to produce a soft melody. He was a tad rusty but he didn’t let that stop him, didn’t let the demons of his past win once again. The only way he would have been happier would be having his voice back so he could sing along, but that was never going to happen. He’d learned to push those thoughts from his mind as soon as they came. This was his life now, being this  _ voiceless  _ thing. 

But that wasn’t true around here, was it? He had a voice around the castle grounds, even if it wasn’t a verbal one. Compared to what Jaskier had had back in Calcheth, living with the knights was like paradise. 

The 2 entered Jaskier’s room, the knight plopping down in a cushioned chair and making himself at home. Jaskier grabbed his lute and sat on his bed, Luna hopping up and lying next to him. He started to pluck the strings, a cheerful tune filling the air. He smiled as he lost himself in the feel of the music, forgetting everything around him as his heart swelled with happiness. 

After a good 10 minutes of the uplifting melody, he looked over at Azemar. The knight had a small smile on his lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Worry gnawed at Jaskier’s insides once more, the song slowly coming to a stop. He got up and carefully set the lute back into its case before walking over to the knight, sitting in the chair next to his. 

**What’s wrong?** he questioned. **Tell me what’s going on.**

Azemar sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, smiling tensely. “Ok. I owe you an honest answer.”

Nervous butterflies suddenly filled Jaskier’s stomach, not quite knowing what to expect. 

**Are you sick? Dying?** Jaskier asked, getting a chuckle in reply.

“No, little flower. I promise you I’m quite alright,” the knight reassured him. “It… has more to do with you, I believe.”

**Me? What about me?**

Azemar sighed, running a hand through his wavy hair. “I really thought bringing you here was the best thing for you, Jaskier. Truly, I did. But... lately I’ve been having trouble sleeping. That’s why I went to see the physician earlier. I wanted to see if there was a sleeping draught that could help me sleep through the night, but he thinks the cause is so deeply rooted that no potion will help.”

Jaskier tilted his head in question.  **What does this have to do with you saving me?**

Azemar grimaces. “That’s just the thing. I don’t think I  _ did _ .” He grasps Jaskier’s hand in his own warm one, idly playing with the smaller fingers. “These dreams… they’re about the Witcher. The dream always starts the same. I see you in that tavern, I tell the Witcher to fuck off, I bring you here. At first, you seem happy, playing your lute and running around the field with Sonny. I feel satisfied, knowing you’re safe and content, away from the horrible people in the world. 

“But that’s where the dream starts to turn into a nightmare. Clouds fill the blue sky, casting darkness over the grounds. The trees melt away, leaving an open battlefield in its place. The wind picks up, whipping leaves and rain everywhere. The horses go crazy, wolves run away in fright. And suddenly men jump out from the trees, dressed in black armor and holding bloody swords. They start to march towards you, swords at the ready. I try to run towards you but I’m stuck in something, unable to move. So I yell for the other knights to help you, but as I look around they’re all slain on the ground, limbs cut off and eyes unseeing. The smell of death is heavy in the air, so heavy it makes me wake up gagging most nights. 

“Suddenly I’ll see a blur of white and black in the corner of my eye, and I’ll turn to look and see the Witcher himself standing there, golden eyes filled with pure rage. He yells for you, runs towards you and slaughters anyone in his path. Just cuts them all down left and right because you’re screaming for him to help you. At first, it looks like he’ll succeed, knocking everyone down like they’re nothing more than ragdolls. But there’s a man, a guy with a feather on his hat, that grabs you just before the Witcher can reach you. He shoves a knife into your neck and slits it as easily as if he were cutting a slab of butter. I scream, the Witcher yells, the man with the feather drops your lifeless body to the ground and  _ laughs _ , disappearing into thin air. Of course  _ now  _ is the time my dream usually lets me move, lets me run to your body on the ground. The Witcher always beats me there, pulling your body into his lap and just  _ holds _ you as you bleed out in his arms. After a few moments, he lays you gently back onto the ground and stands up, facing me. He always sends me a look filled with the most malice I’ve ever seen on anyone and shoves me to the ground, yelling about how he should have never let you go, how your death is  _ my  _ fault, that nobody can protect you better than he can. And this is usually the point where he grabs that mighty sword of his and stabs me in the gut, whispering how you would have never been in harm’s way had he been around. And that’s when I wake up yelling, sweating through my bedclothes. I can never get my breathing under control until I go and check on you in your room to make sure you’re still warm and alive.”

The room is deathly silent for a few moments, save for their breathing. 

Jaskier doesn’t even know how to respond to that because  _ holy fuck.  _ This poor man had been dreaming of Jaskier dying in front of his eyes for the last, what, week? 2 weeks? How long?

**How long have you been having these dreams?**

Azemar smiled bitterly. “Almost the entire month you’ve been with me.”

**And… and it’s the same every time?**

He nods in affirmation, making an odd feeling of guilt stir in Jaskier’s gut. 

“Hey, I can smell that. Don’t you dare feel guilty,” Azemar lightly scolds. “If anything,  _ I  _ should feel guilty. When I talked with the physician about this, he brought a few things to light. You see, when people tend to have recurring dreams like this that are the same  _ every single night _ , it means it’s trying to give you a message of sorts, unlike the various dreams a normal person has. These recurring dreams can act like a prophecy of sorts, letting the dreamer know what should have come to pass had they not interfered with destiny.”

Jaskier’s breathing became rather uneven, not liking the sound of that.

“Hey, it’s ok,” Azemar soothed. “I didn’t mean that to sound like a crazy birdman is going to murder you. Apologies. What I  _ meant  _ to say is that, though the dreams can be gruesome and terrifying, the dreamer needs to focus on the main message. In this case, I do believe it means I should have never come between you and the Witcher. I never should have made you two part. I think destiny had plans for you two and I came along and made a rather big mess of them.”

Jaskier smiles weakly. It’s not as if he had been dreamless the entire time he’d been here. The occasional nightmare popped up here and there, but they were never as chilling as the ones Azemar described. And, of course, he’d also had a handful about the Witcher as well. About them running into one another again, about the Witcher not letting him go in the first place, even random ones where all Jaskier did was sit on the Witcher’s horse and breathe in the earthy scent of him. 

Jaskier shrugged, shooing the thoughts from his mind.  **Mistake or not, I can’t** **_possibly_ ** **say that I regret meeting you and being brought into your world. If I did, it would be a lie.**

Azemar laughed lightly, the tiniest spark lighting up his eyes once more. “I’m truly honored that you feel at home here. I, as well as the knights, love your presence here, Jaskier.” He bit his bottom lip, connecting eyes with the omega. “But… if what the physician says is true, and I  _ truly  _ think it is, then you will cross paths with the Witcher again. People linked by destiny always find each other. I cannot come between destiny a second time.”

Jaskier smiled sadly at him, feeling an odd pain in his heart. Though he had been wary of Azemar in the beginning, Jaskier knew now that he was a good man with the kindest of hearts. He had been the first friend that Jaskier had ever made, and a part of him did not want to leave him behind. _But_. Somewhere, deep down inside of him, a part of his soul settled at hearing the knights words, almost as if his body knew he was meant to be somewhere else with _someone_ else. Even if that someone had pawned him off faster than he could blink. 

**And what if I don’t want to leave?** He asked stubbornly.  **What if I want to stay here?**

Azemar smiled and stood up, pulling Jaskier up with him. “Well, my dear friend, I’ll never force you away. This will  _ always  _ be your safe place and you’re always welcome here. Maybe the Witcher will just have to learn how to live with the likes of werewolves. Ha! Can you imagine? A Witcher living amongst werewolves!”

**Not really,** Jaskier admitted, finding the thought a bit funny. Then something else came to mind.  **What if he hurts you?**

The knight flashed him his usual charming smile, whisking him away down the hall. “Don’t worry, little flower. That's nothing you need to worry about.”

~~

The Witcher shows up a month later. 

It’s a day like any other; the sky is blue and the birds are chirping away. The clanging of swords can be heard throughout the grounds as knights train with each other. Jaskier, much to his delight, is seated on the back of Sonny. For a horse that hated people riding him, he sure had been adamant about Jaskier hopping up. 

It had started with him standing next to the fence, waiting for Jaskier to get on. Jaskier, of course, had just blinked at him stupidly. He was scared enough riding a horse  _ with  _ tack on, let alone without it. Plus, Sonny was quite tall. With no stirrups to shove his feet through, he’d lose his balance easily and topple off. But, the horse had persisted, nudging at Jaskier before he swung his rump around once more to be even with the fence. In Jaskier’s defense, he really had tried to swing himself up. Sonny was just a bit thicker around the middle than he had expected, his leg not stretching far enough to seat himself properly on his back. Had he not wrapped his arms around Sonny’s neck, he would have fallen into the dirt below. Fed up with Jaskier’s pathetic attempts, Sonny knelt onto the ground with his front legs, allowing Jaskier to easily swing his leg over. He held onto Sonny’s mane as he stood back up, neighing in triumph before he started to prance around the field. Jaskier had been too amused to feel nervous about falling off. 

And that was how Azemar found them, Sonny munching on some grass as Jaskier simply enjoyed the view from off the ground. The knight’s eyes were huge, mouth gaping like a fish. He tilted his head as if to comment on it, but shrugged instead and cleared his throat. 

“If this were any other day, I’d ask how in the bloody hell you managed to get on him. However, I have a more pressing matter to discuss.”

**What is it?** Jaskier asked, giving Sonny a pat on the neck before slowly sliding off, sighing in relief as his feet were planted firmly on the ground once more. 

Azemar helped him climb back over the fence, steadying him. He looked into Jaskier’s eyes and sighed. 

“Another knight spotted the Witcher in town earlier. He’s heading this way, more than likely to find you.”

Jaskier frowned. Azemar has warned him that this day would come, but truthfully he didn’t want to leave. He had a home here. He’d made friends here. The Witcher? He was no more than a stranger. 

Jaskier must have been pulling an odd face because Azemar smiled gently and stroked his cheek. “I told you that I’d never make you leave and I meant it. If he wants to grovel at your feet, he can do it here.”

Jaskier shook with silent laughter.

“I think I’ll go meet our friend on the trail so he doesn’t get any funny ideas. Care to join me?”

Jaskier bit his lip and shook his head no, his gut churning with nerves.  **Please be careful.**

“Oh don’t you worry. A few of the knights will be going with me.” A playfulness glinted in his eyes. “You want me to fuck with him a little?”

Jaskier grinned.  **I wouldn’t have it any other way.**

~~

It takes a good half hour before the small party appears through the thick of the trees. 

Jaskier is sitting in the grass, running his hands through Luna’s fur as he tries to settle the uneasiness in his gut. His eyes nervously scan the treeline, his breath catching in his throat when they finally appear.

Azemar is in front, whistling a happy tune as they march closer, acting as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. Which, honestly, Jaskier doubted he did. A couple of other knights are flanked on either side of Azemar, hands on their swords just in case. And behind them, sitting on the familiar chestnut mare, sat the Witcher, white hair glistening in the bright sun, a hard expression on his face. A tall woman with black hair was sitting behind him, her tresses made up into some complicated half-up, half-down hairdo. She was one of the most gorgeous ladies that Jaskier had ever seen, but there was something about her that gave off an air of a warning to any onlookers. Jaskier knew immediately that he didn’t want to be alone with her at any moment. 

As they drew nearer, Jaskier got up on unsteady feet. He had the strongest urge to flee inside and retreat to his room, but he didn’t want the Witcher to win this one. He didn’t want to seem like the frail, meek little thing that so many people thought he was. 

As they rode up to Jaskier, Azemar happily chatted away about god knows what while the Witcher’s gaze fell on Jaskier. Staring into those golden eyes once more made him feel weak, like his legs wouldn’t be able to hold him much longer. A tongue licking his hand broke their connection, causing him to look over and see Luna by his side. He let out a relieved breath and lightly grabbed the fur on her back to ground himself. 

“Jaskier! You remember the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia,” Azemar exclaimed. Geralt looked at him with annoyance before sliding off of Roach, the woman doing the same. The Witcher turned around and faced Jaskier once more, taking a small step towards him. Jaskier was surprised to see the annoyance melt away, his handsome features morphing into something softer, his eyes drinking in Jaskier’s form. He took a few steps closer, his eyes fluttering for a moment as a breeze came along and blew Jaskier’s scent in his direction. He was now standing an arm’s-length away.

“Jaskier,” he rumbled. For a moment he looked pained as he tried forming a sentence together. “You look well.”

It was nothing more than an innocent statement, but Jaskier saw  _ red. _

The Witcher hadn’t cared about his well-being when he pawned him off onto someone else, onto someone they both thought would do more harm to Jaskier than good. Thank the gods Azemar was a good man, but Jaskier knows how truly  _ terrible  _ the situation could have ended up being. And the Witcher fucking knew it too. 

Before Jaskier could stop himself, he wound his arm back and quickly brought it forward, feeling satisfied at the crunch he heard as his fist connected with the Witcher’s nose. He felt even more triumphant at the hiss he let out, hot blood spraying onto the grass. 

Everyone around him was quiet for a long moment, leaving him only to hear the rushing of blood in his ears. His chest heaved with the exertion of it, throwing his best glare towards the Witcher. What he had done was stupid, and possibly dangerous. He was an omega after all. The Witcher could beat him for it and nobody would bat an eye. 

_ No, this is your safe space. Nobody will let harm come to you here,  _ he reminded himself. 

The Witcher wiped a hand across his face and looked over at him with wide, shocked eyes. The blood was smeared all over his face, making a small part of Jaskier want to reach for his handkerchief and clean it off. But he didn’t. The Witcher could clean it himself. 

A snort broke everyone out of their thoughts, causing them all to look over at the woman. She wasn’t even trying to hide the amusement on her face. 

“Now  _ that  _ was one of the most entertaining things I’ve ever seen.”

“Yennefer,” Geralt growled, wiping his bloodied hand on his pants. 

Azemar whistled low, coming to stand between Jaskier and the Witcher. “You’ve got some blood on your doublet, little flower. Let’s go inside and get you changed.” With that, he guided him towards the castle entrance, turning his head and yelling, “Sir Brom, could you please escort our lovely guests to their rooms? I’m sure they’ve had a  _ long  _ journey.”

Jaskier chanced one more glance backward, the Witcher’s eyes following him the whole way. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading/commenting! 
> 
> You can find me here on Tumblr: https://hero-complex-girl.tumblr.com/


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was highly entertained by your responses to Jaskier punching Geralt in the face. Honestly, the fucker deserved it. 
> 
> On another note, I’m going to admit that this story has absolutely no plot whatsoever. I’ve been winging this thing from the get-go. This was mostly an “I’m super glad to be writing again so here’s a billion words of my two favorite characters having a slow burn romance” kind of thing. I have always been utter crap at writing plots, so if a plot actually sneaks in, I’ll surprise the hell out of myself. But in the meantime, I’m just going to use this fic to work on my slow burn (well, as slow as my patience allows, anyway) writing skills. I guess you can think of it as a long version of porn without plot where I just added in some of my favorite kinks to spice things up. In fact, this entire thing is just very self-indulgent at this point lol

As soon as Geralt is left in his guest room, he immediately grabs the pitcher of water sitting on the wooden desk and pours some of it into a bowl. He takes the cloth next to it and dips it in, wringing out the excess drops before bringing it up to his face. He pauses for a moment as he looks at his reflection in the mirror. His nose is a mess, blood smeared all over his cheeks and down his chin. His nose stung just a tad, but his body had knit most of it back together on the short walk to his room. 

He roughly washed away the red stains as his mind wandered back to the omega, to  _ Jaskier _ . He really hadn’t seen the punch coming, but he had to admit that the force behind it was quite impressive. Nobody in their right mind would’ve dared to punch a Witcher in the face like that, but he had deserved it, hadn’t he? After all, he had basically abandoned him, pawned him off to some other man, some other  _ thing _ .

Geralt’s jaw clenched as he looked down at the medallion around his neck, annoyed with its vibrations. Had he just not noticed the pendant giving him a warning in the tavern? Or was the werewolf somehow able to mask his magic? Either way, being marched into the middle of a wolf den was not his ideal situation. It made him uneasy being in the middle of enemy territory. 

And yet…

This man, this  _ Azemar _ , had been the complete opposite of what Geralt had seen in the tavern all those months ago. What had happened to the vicious smirk? The spark of trouble in his eyes? The cocky attitude? How had Geralt been so blindsided? 

He worried his lip, frown firmly in place as he ran through the entire tavern scenario in his head. Truthfully he had never stopped thinking of it, thinking of Jaskier in tears, the scent of his fear curdling in Geralt’s gut as he pushed him away. This time, though, he focused his thoughts on the knight. The fucker had been  _ so convincing.  _ Geralt had always been good at detecting lies, at hearing the smallest blip in a heartbeat as someone said something untruthful. But Geralt couldn’t remember hearing anything unusual when confronting the man. 

“If you think any harder, you’ll hurt yourself.”

Geralt jumped and swung around, seeing Yennefer leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest and a smirk on her lips. He hadn’t even heard her open the door. Fuck, maybe he  _ was  _ losing his touch. 

“Yennefer,” he sighed, suddenly feeling tired. 

“I don’t recall you mentioning anything about werewolves on the ride here,” she said, raising an eyebrow. 

“That’s because I didn’t  _ know _ .”

“Peculiar.” She stepped inside the room and closed the door behind her. “I thought Witchers were supposed to be good at detecting monsters.”

“I… I don’t know what happened, Yen,” he sighed, running a hand through his tangled strands. 

“I’d say the omega took your senses.” She sends him a sharp grin. “He is  _ very _ gorgeous, you know. Careful, Geralt, I just may steal him from you.”

A deep growl unintentionally bubbled up his throat, causing Yennefer to raise an eyebrow. 

“Fuck,” he swore through clenched teeth. He shook his head a few times to try and clear it. 

“Wow,” Yennefer murmured. “I had no idea how badly this entire situation affected you.” 

“Neither did I until I saw him again.”

Yennefer sighed, clasping her hands together. “I know you hate to hear this, Geralt, but I think you’ve repressed your alpha for far too long. I understand it’s part of a Witchers training, but that doesn’t mean it’s good for you.”

Geralt snorts. “They didn’t care if it was  _ good  _ for us. It was a test, just like everything else.”

“Perhaps,” Yennefer replied. “But I truly think the bond between two people can be so strong that not even a will made of iron could stand a chance against it.”

Geralt walked to the bed and sat down, letting out a deep sigh. “I just… I want to see him, Yen. I want to make sure he’s ok.”

“He’s fine, Geralt. This place, though you may not want to believe it, is probably the safest place for him. The protective magic weaving throughout this castle and its grounds is some of the strongest I’ve ever felt. It’s not malicious, Geralt. I’d say this place is more of a haven than anything.” 

“Hm.”

“In fact, this place is completely different than what I expected going by your descriptions. And so is the knight, for that matter.”

“Yeah,” he rasped. “Apologies. I fear my senses have been out of sorts for a while. I swear to you, that knight was a totally different person when we first crossed paths.”

“I don’t doubt it,” she smirked. “I don’t think he tricked you, Geralt. I think he may just be an exceptional actor.”

“I’ll say,” he muttered, horrified to feel a blush stain his cheeks. He didn’t like being made to look like a fool, especially from an enemy. And yet, a fool he had been.

After the knight had stepped in front of their path earlier, Geralt had been ready to jump down from Roach and start stabbing but had been thrown for a loop once Azemar threw his head back and laughed. Geralt had been further dumbfounded once the knight’s laughter had died down, beckoning them to follow him and a few of his friends, who seemed to have appeared out of  _ nowhere _ , toward the castle as he started to chatter loudly about useless things. 

Geralt had felt more lost in that moment than he had ever been, but the feeling had dissipated as soon as his eyes had landed on Jaskier. Besides the fancy silk clothing, the omega had looked more or less the same since they parted ways. His face had been a little less gaunt, meaning the castle kitchens were probably feeding him their best meats and a large variety of bread. Either way, Geralt would not be satisfied until he could no longer see Jaskier’s ribs jutting out through his skin. 

A light tap on the door made them both turn and look, seeing a young lady standing there. She gave him a small smile as she bowed to them, announcing, “I’m here to escort you to dinner.”

“Great,” Geralt mumbled to himself. “Exactly what I wanted. Eating with a group of pompous knights.”

To Geralt’s surprise, the smile slipped from the woman’s face. She narrowed her eyes as they flickered back and forth between them. “I’d watch your tongue, Witcher. You seek the castle out of your own accord only to spit on Azemar’s hospitality?”

Geralt blinked, surprised. No servant would dare talk back to anyone, especially a servant of a castle as large as this one. More often than not it could lead to beatings or some sort of torture. 

“Apologies, miss,” Yennefer purred, getting over her surprise quicker than Geralt. “I think Geralt here is just having a rather shite day. You see, his beloved is rather cross with him at the moment. It’s making him a little spiteful.”

The girl eyed Yennefer for a moment before giving a small nod of her head. “I suppose that’s forgivable. Just don’t let it happen again.” 

Geralt decided to keep his mouth shut as they followed her down the winding corridor. Eventually, they came to a rather large and extravagant eating room. Stained glass windows sparkled along the walls, painting the room in complex colors as the remaining rays of the sun shone through. Purple and blue banners made of satin weaved throughout the room, some folded into complicated knotwork that was visually appealing to the eye. A long, wooden table sat in the center of the room, wooden chairs with velvet cushions surrounding it. There were already some knights seated around the table, drinking from cups and filling the air with boisterous laughter. Azemar was there as well, grinning like a school-boy as someone across from him told him a story. As soon as he spotted Geralt and Yennefer, he waved at them.

“Ah, welcome! Have a seat wherever you like!” He then threw a glance at the woman who had escorted them. “Thank you, Lily. I know for a fact that there’s an extra pie in the kitchens. Please go help yourself, darling.”

She sent him a blinding smile, bowing before she scurried off the way she had come, blond hair flying after her. Once again, Geralt felt completely lost. His eyes quickly scanned the faces around the table, disappointment unfurling in his chest when he didn’t spot the omega.

“He decided to eat in his room tonight,” Azemar commented, pulling the chair out next to him for Geralt to sit. 

Geralt held a chair out for Yennefer before he grudgingly settled next to the knight. 

“I can’t imagine why,” Yennefer murmured, sipping some wine to avoid Geralt’s glare. 

“Would it be…  _ ok  _ if I spoke with him this evening?” Geralt asked. 

Azemar looked at him in surprise, biting off a chunk of turkey leg before replying. “Well,  _ yes _ . Who am I to come between destiny? Er, for a  _ second  _ time, that is. Although, I do advise you to speak with him tomorrow instead. Let his anger simmer a little, you know?”

Geralt just stared at him, thrown for a loop at the mention of destiny. He wouldn’t question him about it, though. He ripped apart a piece of bread instead, shoving the pieces into his mouth one by one. Realizing how hungry he actually was, he dug into his plate, begrudgingly admitting that the food was delicious. 

“So,” he murmured after swallowing some ale. “How long have you been running this wolf den?”

“Geralt!” Yennefer hissed.

He ignored her, focusing his gaze on the knight. 

Azemar rose an eyebrow, his lips forming an amused smirk. “This castle has been a sanctuary for centuries, my friend. Long before I was born, even. It goes way back to the dark ages, always staying in my family.”

“Hm.” Geralt grunts, staring at the plate in front of him. “Funny. I’ve never heard of a  _ sanctuary  _ for dogs.”

“The world is a large place,” the knight responds gently, making Geralt look over at him. “There’s too much land to know every inch of it. Not like a Witcher would ever be contracted around these parts.”

“I suppose not.” 

“I know what you must think of us,” Azemar continues, staring into his cup like it held the answers of the universe. “What you’ve been  _ trained  _ to think of us. But… the world is not so black and white. Werewolves aren’t all mindless beings who howl at the moon and kill everything that moves. You see, Witcher, there are actually two types of werewolves; the ones who  _ do  _ kill everything in sight to quench their bloodlust, and the ones who don’t. The ones who do? Bloody eerie things, I’ll admit.” He shudders as he puts his cup down. “What with the fangs and the, the standing on  _ two feet. _ But you see, their minds are long gone. There’s no human left in them. And us? Well, we’re all born werewolves. We turn into  _ actual  _ wolves on the full moon instead of those bloodthirsty beasts.”

“I was always told that every time a human transforms into a werewolf, they lose more and more of their humanity,” Geralt murmurs. 

The knight across from him snorts into his cup, murmuring, “They also say Witchers don’t have feelings.”

Geralt looked down at his plate to try and hide the smirk that threatened to break through. “Fair enough.” 

“Besides,” Azemar grins. “If that were the case, we’d have lost our minds a couple of decades ago! We have the ability to shift whenever we want, you see. Comes in handy when you’re spying on trespassers.” He jabs Geralt lightly in the side in a teasing manner. 

Geralt didn’t form any type of reaction, his mind still hung up on the fact that the knights were  _ decades  _ old. 

“Now, that  _ is  _ interesting,” Yennefer spoke up. “I’ve never heard of your kind before.”

“Sadly people think monsters are far more entertaining,” Azemar replied. “We’re not all evil.”

“I know the feeling,” Yennefer murmured, giving him a small smile.

The rest of the dinner passed rather quickly. Geralt had to admit that the knights were an ok bunch, not at all as loud and brash as the nobles he’d had the displeasure of meeting in the past. He was still puzzled over Azemar, wondering how he could have read the man so wrong from the beginning. It was clear that he was a well-liked and respected man. That knowledge gave Geralt a little peace of mind, something settling in his chest knowing Jaskier had been treated well while he stayed at the castle. 

As much as he wanted to go and seek out Jaskier, he listened to the knight’s advice, deciding to wait until the morning instead. As he drifted into a fitful sleep that night, he couldn’t help but chuckle as he replayed the earlier events in his head; Jaskier’s delicate fist connecting with his nose, blood staining his face and the grass below his feet. 

Whatever horrors the omega had most likely suffered in his lifetime, it was a relief to know that there was still a spark of  _ something  _ burning bright inside of him.

~~

The next morning, Geralt found the omega outside. 

He was in the horse pen, slowly braiding the mane of a huge, white stallion. The large wolf from the previous day was laying on the ground next to them, eyes trained on Geralt as he approached, ears up and alert. 

It was breezier than the previous day, making Geralt worry about Jaskier’s well-being. Was he cold? Why wasn’t he wearing more layers? Surely his silky, golden doublet wasn’t enough to keep away the chill in the air. Geralt clutched the cloak in his hands tighter, hoping Jaskier would accept the physical form of apology. 

He came to a stop a few feet behind Jaskier, the omega still oblivious to his presence. 

_ Do I tap his shoulder? Grunt? Say something? _

In the end, the decision was taken from him, the stallion pinning his ears back and giving Geralt the evil eye. 

Jaskier, noticing the change in the horse’s demeanor, turned around to face Geralt, jumping at the sight of him. A hand flew to his heart to calm its rapid pitter-patter, wide, blue eyes staring up at him. 

Geralt held up his free hand in a show of surrender. 

“Apologies,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just… wanted to talk. And give you this, if you’ll have it.” He held out the cloak to Jaskier, who stared at it blankly. Geralt shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortable with the silence. “It’s made from the fur of a black panther. I just thought… you know, since you didn’t want mine, maybe you’d want one of your own.”

Jaskier just stares at him with an unreadable expression, blue eyes sparkling in the sun. 

Geralt was suddenly hit with the strongest urge to lean down and gently kiss his eyelids, trace the red lips with his thumb, stick his nose into the juncture of his neck and just  _ smell _ \--

Geralt cleared his throat, feeling a wave of embarrassment hit him as he cleared his mind of the thoughts. He’d always kept his lust under tight control, only truly letting go when sharing the bed with a willing partner. But a lack of control seemed to be a common theme when around Jaskier. As unfamiliar as the feeling was, he knew he'd be better off trying to embrace it instead of pushing it away.

The foreign feeling of a blush filled his cheeks, the feeling of rejection catching him off guard as Jaskier just kept staring at him. He tore his gaze away from the cornflower-blue one, settling them on the cloak instead. 

“Right,” he rasped. He lowered the cloak from where he had thrust it in front of Jaskier, hiding it behind the meat of his thigh. “It was a stupid idea. I thought, well… I don't know what I thought.” He swallowed thickly, eyes looking anywhere besides the omega. And why  _ would  _ he accept Geralt’s gift? He had every reason to decline it, had every reason to laugh in Geralt’s face, had every reason to ignore Geralt’s very existence because of his foolish mistake--

\--and was breathing  _ always  _ this hard?

A strange sensation had taken over his throat, making it feel like it was closing in on itself. Was this magic? Had he been spelled? Why couldn’t he just  _ breathe _ \--

A soft touch to his arm made his gaze snap back to the omega, the smallest expression of worry playing on Jaskier’s face. After a few tense moments, he sent Geralt the world's tiniest smile, his fingers curling in Geralt’s sleeve. 

And just like that, Geralt could breathe again, a weight lifting from his chest that he hadn't known was there. 

Jaskier slowly reached toward the fur cloak, prompting Geralt to hold it out to him. He gently ran his fingertips over it, the fur rippling under the touch. Eventually, he let go of Geralt’s sleeve to grab the cloak with both hands, bringing it up to his face and rubbing it against his cheek, the dark fur contrasting beautifully with his pale skin. 

Geralt didn’t even try to stop the smile from forming on his lips. “Would you like to wear it?” he asked. 

Jaskier gave a small nod of his head. 

Geralt took the folded cloak from his hands and let it unravel before draping it over Jaskier’s shoulders, tying the strings together across his collarbones. He took a step back to look at him properly, a content pur threatening to escape his throat. The cloak fit him perfectly, the bottom just barely brushing the ground and the top half molding perfectly to his shoulders and chest. 

_ Pretty omega. Happy omega. _

The thoughts made Geralt puff out his chest a little, feeling proud that his omega had accepted and enjoyed the gift. 

“Do you like it?” he asked, drinking in Jaskier’s facial expressions. 

Jaskier looked up at him through thick lashes, his mouth quirking up in a tentative smile as he gave another small nod. They held eye contact for a few more moments, the air between them crackling with an odd kind of tension. Before Geralt could do anything stupid, like greedily run his fingertips across the soft skin of the omega’s cheeks, Jaskier turned away from him and stepped back toward the stallion, resuming his braiding. 

Geralt huffed in amusement and smiled at his back, deciding it would be wise to leave the omega be for the time being. Jaskier may not have turned down Geralt’s gift like he thought he would, but that didn’t mean Geralt wanted to push his luck. 

With one last look at Jaskier’s back, Geralt turns and heads back toward the castle. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am currently writing for a Witcher Mini Bang at the moment, so if this isn't updated within the next few weeks, I apologize. As always, thanks for reading!
> 
> You can find me here on Tumblr: https://hero-complex-girl.tumblr.com/


End file.
